


The Seeds, The Shoot, The Flame

by breathtaken



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Crushes, Episode: Critical Role and the Club of Misfits, F/F, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Muggle Studies Can Suck It, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Vegetarians & Vegans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: Twenty minutes left on the clock, and for a few moments she wasn’t sure she could bear to write what she thought Professor Furbin wanted to read; imagined, instead, a version of the story where she told the truth.*Claire Sittish is a sixth-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she has several problems, in no particular order: she’s doing six N.E.W.T.s, she’s secretly gay, and she wants Ally Reinhold to like her.





	1. The Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t seen The Breakfast Club.
> 
> Thank you as ever to [sprosslee](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/sprosslee) and [ShadowValkyrie](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowValkyrie) for following me tirelessly from one fandom to another, and providing support and enthusiasm for whatever comes out of my brain.

"Who can tell me the active ingredients for _ Felix Felicis_?"

In the front row of the Potions classroom, Claire’s hand shoots up.

She barely waits for Professor Patel to make eye contact before reciting, “Ashwinder egg, squill bulb, murtlap tentacle, tincture of thyme, occamy eggshell and powdered common rue.”

“Correct, Sittish,” Professor Patel replies, as she always does, gracing Claire with the barest nod before turning her attention back to the classroom at large; and as always, Claire flushes with warmth.

Potions is important to her, of course. As are all her subjects. She needs to do well across the board if she’s going to become an Auror, and there’s absolutely nothing she wants more. 

It doesn’t hurt that Professor Patel is, well, _ gorgeous. _

Ever since the Professor joined the Hogwarts staff, Claire’s been having the same dream: she’s standing alone in the Entrance Hall and Professor Patel is rushing down the main staircase towards her, stopping close enough to touch. Her face is flushed and her chest heaving, a stray lock of black hair escaping from its normally severe bun as she gasps, “Claire. Thank Merlin. You’re the only one who can help –”

_ Not now, _she tells herself, pushing the memory firmly away, and looks back down at her parchment. 

For the rest of the lesson she takes comprehensive notes on common mistakes in _ Felix Felicis _ brewing and their consequences, and mostly manages not to think about the way the Professor’s eyebrow arches when she’s amused or imagine the way her hair would fall about her shoulders, until the bells start to chime for lunch. 

She follows her friends to the Great Hall and takes her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, opposite Shani with Izzy and Olivia to her right. They end up talking about The Great British Bake-Off _ again _ even though none of them will be able to watch another episode until the Christmas holidays, and Claire nods and interjects in all the right places even though she’s forgotten most of what’s happening this series already.

Still, the soggy bottoms and buttery biscuit bases aren’t really the point; it’s about having something to share. Their group chat is the only thing that kept her sane over the summer, which as always consisted of long lonely stretches of studying only interrupted by her parents’ friends’ excruciating parties, where she busied herself sneaking alcohol while pretending not to hear the adults saying things like _ there are so many Muggleborns these days, _and trying to avoid getting trapped in conversations with their awkward sons, who had almost as little interest in her as she did in them.

“It’s just not the same without Mary Berry,” she says, not for the first time, and her friends nod sadly.

She loves her friends, and needs them, but the truth is she’s changed. And the things they care about, the things she _ used _ to care about, no longer seem to matter. The school year may have only been underway for a few weeks, but already she feels like almost everything she says and does is old and tired, like playing the same song on loop.

The one exception being her impending N.E.W.T.s, which are uniquely terrifying and not something she wants to consider while she’s trying to enjoy her lunch.

She looks up from her half-finished plate, resolving to focus on the conversation – and freezes as she locks eyes with Ally from Detention, getting up from the Hufflepuff table directly across from her, all other thoughts forgotten.

Ally looks exactly the same as she did last year: shorter and skinnier than Claire, the same thick black fringe entirely covering one eye, and a massive house scarf wrapped around her entire neck from chin to shoulders. She’s talking to someone else, but her eyes are fixed on Claire.

Claire can pinpoint two events in her life that together have changed her from the person she expected to become into the person she actually is: one of them was realising that despite her best efforts, she doesn’t like boys. The other was that Saturday in detention.

She’s wanted to talk to Ally – to talk to _ someone _ – ever since that ridiculous, terrifying afternoon that left her faith in Hogwarts shaken, in a way it had never been before; that would have been unbelievable to anyone who wasn’t there, like something that might have happened to Harry Potter. But every time she imagines it, no matter what she says, she can’t find an ending to the story that isn’t Ally just rolling her eyes and replying, “Whatever.”

Claire knows she’s popular, for what it’s worth, but she also knows when it isn’t worth a damn.

Ally is still looking at her. 

_ Hi, _Claire mouths, and because she is an idiot, gives Ally a little wave.

Beside her, Olivia says, “Who the hell is that?”

“Allison Reinhold. She was in my detention last year,” Claire replies, trying desperately to drown out the part of her brain that’s just repeating _shit, shit, shit _on loop. “She’s cool.”

Olivia shrugs. “Muggleborn?”

“Non-magical origin,” Claire corrects.

Shani sighs dramatically. “Oh, come on. You’re _ literally _ the only one who actually says that.”

“It’s about being polite,” Claire insists, because who’s going to set an example if not them?

They’ve had this conversation before too; and when she looks back, Ally is gone.

After lunch Claire has double Herbology, and she’s painfully aware it’s the only subject she’s taking this year without any of her friends, or even awful Brian. She deliberately drags her feet as she walks down the East Wing corridor towards the greenhouses, looking periodically at her Wizarding Watch to ensure she isn’t late, but has to spend as little time as possible waiting outside the greenhouses on her own while all her classmates ignore her.

She times it well: most of the class is already present, and she leans against the castle wall opposite the sixth-year greenhouse and checks her watch a few times, as if she’s pinging back and forth with someone, until she hears Professor Longbottom’s voice, and looks up to see him coming around the corner with Ally from Detention, gesturing expansively as he talks.

Ally’s in this class too, Claire remembers belatedly, and she waved to her at lunch. Like they’re actually friends.

She hasn’t forgotten Ally’s command of earth magic, shockingly powerful for a sixteen-year-old: Claire recognised Thunderwave and Call Lightning, plus her Animagus form that Claire’s _ sure _ must be unregistered, she’d have heard about it otherwise, how did she even _ learn..._?

“...very delicate blooms,” the Professor is saying as he unlocks the doors to the sixth-year greenhouse with a grinding of metal, a few copper sparks shooting from the lock as the enchantment releases. “It’s used in a common variant of the Wiggenweld Potion, as I’m sure you know, Miss Reinhold, although current research suggests that dittany or moondew are just as effective for a standard strength potion.”

For five years Claire didn’t even know who Ally _ was, _and she has that kind of power.

She expects Ally to turn and wait for her friends; but when she follows Professor Longbottom inside without a single glance at anyone else, the wheels in Claire’s mind start to turn: Ally’s both talented and apparently just as friendless in this class as Claire is, and the Professor’s going to announce their autumn term coursework today – 

Claire moves, pushing past a disgruntled Jenny Bowers to get into the greenhouse before anyone else, barely slowing to lift a gardening robe off the peg and then following Ally past her own usual spot at the front, right down to the back of the room.

Ally looks over in surprise as Claire drops her bag and stands next to her at the workbench.

“Hey,” she says, as nonchalantly as she knows how. As if she always stands next to Ally in Herbology.

“...hey yourself?”

Ally gives her a sidelong look, nestled somewhere between curiosity and suspicion, though it’s hard to read her expression when it’s mostly hidden by hair and/or scarf.

“Mind if I –?”

Claire has a couple of problems she’s acutely aware of, one of which is that she’s never been able to just accept uncertainty. She always has to push, to confirm, to be reassured – and it’s backfired on her almost as often as it hasn’t.

But Ally doesn’t tell her to fuck off, or even roll her eyes and say _ whatever, _like she so often has in Claire’s overactive imagination. She just shrugs and says, “Go for it.”

“Cool,” Claire says, and digs around in her bag for a bit to hide her awkwardness as the rest of the class file in.

She wasn’t lying when she said she’d never noticed Ally before their detention; but once Claire knew what to look for, suddenly she was everywhere. They have Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts together as well as Herbology, fully half of Claire’s classes this year; she mostly hangs around with Naomi Wallis and a lanky, curly-haired Hufflepuff boy whose name Claire doesn’t know. They’re always talking or laughing with their heads close together, like they’re sharing secrets.

Neither of them are in this class, and Claire thinks Ally normally works with Mark someone-or-other from Ravenclaw on pairs projects, but when she glances up and down the assembled students he’s talking to Leo Brennan and paying them no attention.

Finally Professor Longbottom clears his throat, and the chatter in the room subsides.

“Good afternoon, class.” His gaze sweeps along the workbench. “Today you’re going to begin your first piece of coursework: over the next four weeks, you’ll work in pairs to grow a fire seed bush and harvest its seeds.” 

Claire notices for the first time the empty pots, burlap sacks and small stone containers placed along the centre of the workbench, instead of the plants that normally await them in this class.

“Those of you who are taking Potions will then be able to use the seeds in your Potions coursework later this term. Professor Patel will tell you more in your next lesson. Now, pair up and collect your equipment. You’ll need dragonhide gloves and goggles, and if you have long hair, please tie it back. Instructions are on page two hundred and sixty of your _ Goshawk’s Guide. _ And this is important: do _ not _open the seed containers until you’re ready to pot the seeds. The instructions will tell you why. If you have any questions, just raise your hand.”

As the noise picks up around them, Claire turns to Ally – who raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll get our gloves and goggles,” Claire blurts out, and hurries towards up to the front before Ally has a chance to change her mind.

When she returns with their protective gear, Ally has the _ Goshawk _open on the correct page and is following the lines of text with the end of a pen, mouthing the words to herself as she reads. Even six months ago Claire would have laughed at any N.E.W.T. student who had such trouble reading instructions in a textbook – but she and Ally have fought for their lives together, and she’d like to think she’s learned something about being good academically not being the only measure of a wizard.

“Okay,” Ally says as Claire drops the gloves and goggles in a heap on the bench, “we need one vial of Dragonsbreath Fertiliser Potion” – brewed in their lesson last week, Claire remembers – “a kilo of bursting mushroom soil, two fire seeds, a pot with a lid, and both wands at the ready. We’ll need to cast simultaneous _ Glacius _ and _ Leviosa _ charms to get these potted.”

They work mostly in silence for the first few minutes, collecting everything they need and pouring the soil into the pot. Claire’s forming a well for the seeds with clumsy gloved fingers when Ally leans over her shoulder and says casually, “So. Do you still cheat?”

Claire immediately feels a hot flush of shame wash through her.

She knows what they all thought of her, that afternoon in detention, and probably still do: lazy, privileged, expecting to have everything in life handed to her while pretending her success was down to hard work all along – and it's just not true.

Well. Perhaps there _ is _a grain of truth there; she's self-aware enough to realise that a lot of things have been easier for her than they are for others. But what nobody else sees is the flip side of being from a traditional wizarding family: that there are far more expectations on her shoulders than there will ever be on Ally's, and sometimes she thinks the weight of them might just crush her.

She didn't even think of it as _ cheating. _More as – making sure. She knew who she was and what she needed to do, and that she couldn't afford to make mistakes.

But that afternoon gave her a taste of what would happen if she was ever found out – and she realised as she tried to defend herself that actually, there was no defending what she’d done. Aurors have to be beyond reproach, and to be a known cheat would be even worse than being an honest failure.

"No, I don’t," she replies stiffly. Maybe she shouldn't be having all these generous thoughts about Ally, if this is how Ally still thinks of her.

"Alright." She's being messed with, Claire realises: there's sly amusement playing around Ally's lips, and right now this feels like a heavy price to pay for good marks in her coursework.

She grits her teeth and asks, “Do you want to do the _ Glacius _ or the _ Leviosa_?”

As it turns out, they work together annoyingly well. The charm spells may be first-year ones, but the control and finesse required to execute them without damaging the seeds test both of their abilities; and even though no N.E.W.T. student should still be casting aloud, Claire can’t help mouthing _ Wingardium Leviosa! _ as she swishes and flicks her wand, capturing the pair of seeds a split second after Ally’s _ Glacius _ charm and floating them ever-so-carefully out of their box and into the plant pot, all too aware that just a hair too much force could cause the seeds to burst into flame and they’d have to start over again with a new batch, probably losing marks in the process.

But it goes off without a hitch: Claire lowers the seeds into the soil and releases her spell, heaping another handful of soil over the top and patting it down with one hand as she uncorks the potion with her other hand; then says “Now!”, Ally releasing her own spell just as the liquid hits the soil.

She holds her breath for a good few seconds; but when nothing happens, turns to Ally with a grin, thinking, _ we did it. _

“We need to feed it with another vial every three days, for two to three weeks.” Claire’s grin fades as she realises Ally isn’t even looking at her, her dark head bent over the textbook. “If it hasn’t sprouted by then, then we’ve fucked it up.”

“Will we both need to come and do it?” Claire asks, and then immediately wants to kick herself as she realises it sounds like she wants them to spend as little time together as possible. “I mean, we probably should. I don’t want to dump all the responsibility on you, but you’re – better with plants than me.”

It feels awkward to say it out loud, and even more awkward when she sees a moment of naked surprise in Ally’s expression, before she covers it with nonchalance. “Yeah. Sure. I wouldn’t want you to fuck it up while I’m not there.”

Ally’s joking... she thinks.

They agree to ping each other after dinner on Friday, and when the lesson ends they go their separate ways. Claire has fifth period free, and she finds a secluded cubicle on the top floor of the library with a view of the lawn, and idly watches the first-years’ flying lesson while she works on her History of Magic essay on South Asian wizarding families’ immigration to the UK post-Partition, a topic she’d never admit to choosing almost entirely because of Professor Patel.

Outside a first-year Hufflepuff falls off his broom; and Claire has an awful and entirely uncalled-for flashback to telling everyone in detention she was still a virgin.

_ Merlin’s tits, _ why did she _ do _ that?

Ally’s probably had sex. She’s sixteen or seventeen and from a non-wizarding family, after all, and if Claire wasn’t gay she thinks she would have lost it by now as well. Pretending none of the boys who try it on are good enough for her is an excuse that’s starting to wear thin, and she suspects her friends think she’s got some sort of a complex, though they’re a fortunate combination of too diplomatic to say anything and too self-centered to actually try and help her.

_ I’ve just got to get through school, _ she reminds herself, _ and get into Auror training. _ Then she can move out and finally have some independence, far away from the goldfish bowl that is West Country magical society. Freedom, anonymity. She can even go to the _ Rainbow Coven. _ Maybe. Eventually.

She wants Ally to like her.

Intellectually she knows that friendship isn’t a code to be cracked, there’s no secret formula. She just needs to not be an uppity bitch, rather than getting hung up on trivial details like the fact that she still writes with quills instead of ballpoint pens, and that the Muggleborn kids might as well be speaking a foreign language sometimes for how little she understands them.

It would be so much easier if people were a subject she could swot up on. If the answers she needed were in the back of the book all along.

Other people might think she has it easy, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way.

* * *

Claire’s first lesson on Thursday is double Potions. She’s waiting outside the classroom door with Izzy and Olivia at five minutes to nine, and tries to will her heart not to beat faster when she sees Professor Patel coming down the corridor, the hem of her robes just brushing the flagstones, irrationally afraid that somehow someone will read her inappropriate feelings on her face.

They take their usual seats as their classmates filter into the room, Izzy and Olivia whispering back and forth about Izzy’s on-again-off-again thing with Andy from Detention, which Claire secretly wishes would become permanently off-again because every time she thinks about it a knot forms in her stomach that won’t unravel, because she never told her friends what happened.

She still remembers it like it was yesterday: face flushed and heart pounding in her chest, not a sound in the room but the scratching of quills, as she stared down at the piece of parchment in front of her, entirely blank but for the title she’d just written, steady penmanship betraying nothing of the emotions still rolling through her: 

_ Who I Think I Am _

Twenty minutes left on the clock, and for a few moments she wasn’t sure she could bear to write what she thought Professor Furbin wanted to read; imagined, instead, a version of the story where she told the truth.

_ I’m a lesbian _  
<strike> _ I’m a bitch _ </strike>  
_ I _ _ was_ _ a bitch, but I want to be better _  
_ I don’t know who I am _

For twelve minutes she sat, frozen in indecision as she slowly remembered how to breathe again – and then for the remaining eight minutes word-vomited some rubbish about her future plans and the importance of studying hard and not letting other students distract her even when they were being _ really annoying, _ and handed it into the Professor when she called time, hoping she would never actually bother to read it.

To tell her friends what happened would mean telling them _ everything, _and every time Izzy and Andy are on-again she’s freshly terrified that at some point he’ll tell Izzy what happened that day, and Claire will be caught out. 

She’s changed, and she’s _ glad; _but she doesn’t know how much more she can afford to change before she loses her friends entirely.

She’s shaken from her thoughts when Professor Patel claps her hands, getting up from her chair and leaning against the front of her desk with her arms folded. She’s taken off her robes and is wearing a yellow silk tunic, and Claire’s drawn to her like a beacon.

“Good morning, everyone. Today you’ll start work on the first stage of your autumn term coursework.” Claire picks up her quill, immediately alert. “As you all know, fire seeds are a key ingredient of both the Firebreathing Potion and the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. In their standard form these are third-year potions, however, as sixth-year students you are expected to understand the theory of potion composition and to start to develop your own innovative brewing skills. 

“You will work in pairs to develop a hypothesis and a draft recipe for an alternative to one of these two potions, choosing either an offensive or a restorative pathway. The only compulsory ingredient is fire seeds. Following my review and approval of your draft, you will brew your potion. Your marks will be based on three elements: your joint hypothesis and recipe; the efficacy of your brewed potion; and your written report, which you will work on individually.

“Those of you who are also taking Herbology are growing your own fire seed bushes with Professor Longbottom and will be harvesting the seeds for use in your potion. Please keep the same pairs for this assignment. Fire seeds will be provided for any students whose bushes fail or who are not taking Herbology. Now, I’ll give you all the next fifteen minutes to choose your partners and agree on a pathway. Then we’ll spend the rest of the lesson discussing the properties of fire seeds and the principles of composition. Go!” 

Claire has already got to her feet when she realises Izzy and Olivia are looking at her in confusion.

“I’m already working with Ally Reinhold in Herbology,” she explains, as casually as she can manage. “Have fun.”

She gathers her things and weaves her way around her meandering classmates to the back of the room, taking the desk next to Ally that the curly-haired Hufflepuff boy is just vacating. 

“Hey,” Ally says, not looking up from where she’s doodling vines in the margin of her notebook.

“Hey,” Claire replies as she sits down and arranges her books, trying to think of something else to say that won’t sound stupid and coming up short.

In front of them, Justin Macaulay twists around in his chair. “Does the fire bush match the drapes then, Sittish?”

Ally snorts.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Don’t be vulgar, Macaulay. Besides. That doesn’t even make _ sense._”

“A yes or a no will do, babe.” He winks, ignoring her loud _ ugh, _and as he turns back around Claire thinks that if this is what boys are like then perhaps she’s not the weird one here for wanting to opt out entirely.

Ally gives her a sidelong look, still doodling. “You know, they only do it cause they know it’s so easy to get a rise out of you. Just give them the finger next time. Or say something funny back.”

Claire decides not to point out that saying something funny is hardly her strong suit.

Instead she says, “By now I think it’s probably too late to change what they think of me.”

“Oh, you never know. Till we had detention together I thought you were just a bitch.”

_ What do you think of me now? _Claire wants to ask, but knows she doesn’t dare.

“I _ was _ a bitch.” She tries to say it as casually as possible, like it doesn’t hurt. “But – now I’m trying not to be.”

Ally grins. “See? A true bitch wouldn’t care.”

_ I want to be your friend, _Claire thinks.

She says, “I like your eyeliner.”

“Thanks.” Ally shakes her hair out of her eyes and flutters her eyelashes, showing off the two perfect black wings on her eyelids. “It’s charmed. Lasts all term. Wouldn’t suit you, though.”

“I know. I like it on you,” Claire replies, and immediately panics.

Ally is looking bemused, and Claire’s mind is just repeating _ why did you say that why did you – _

A little desperately, she asks, “So, offensive or restorative?”

Ally chooses restorative and Claire agrees immediately, relieved to get the conversation back under control. As the lesson goes on she even starts to relax, and though she’s always felt more of an affinity with offensive magic, as Professor Patel goes over the theory of antitoxins she’s pleasantly surprised to find her interest is genuine. 

Ally is constantly chewing her pen lid, when she isn’t chewing her nails. She smells kind of like soil, and though she never once raises her hand, a few times Claire sees her mouthing the correct answers just before someone else says them out loud.

Now that they have not just a plant but also a potion to make together, it doesn’t feel weird for Claire to say as they’re packing up, “When do you want to work on this?”

“Tomorrow evening?” Ally replies, looking at her Wizarding Watch, and Claire feels a stab of annoyance directed towards whoever’s currently more interesting to Ally than she is. “We’ll have to feed the bush anyway. Unless you don’t do homework on Friday evenings.”

“I’m doing six N.E.W.T.s,” Claire points out. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

Ally gives her a look. “Jesus. Overachiever much?”

Claire shrugs. “I want to be an Auror.”

“Of course you do. Friday evening, then.”

If you want to be someone’s friend, Claire decides, the hardest part is knowing where to start. Especially when you seem to have so little in common.

She knows a lot of people probably think she’s bigoted because she doesn’t have any friends who aren’t wizard-born. It’s not like that – Claire genuinely doesn’t think anybody younger than her grandparents thinks non-wizard-born people are in any way lesser, with the exception of a few fringe lunatics – she just doesn’t understand them. Their upbringing, their home lives, their cultural references are all utterly alien to her, and Non-Magical Studies may have taught her about cars and electricity and the National Health Service but those are just _ things, _ they aren’t _ people. _

Izzy, Shani and Olivia might get on Claire’s tits sometimes, but they _ get _ her. They understand why she’s doing six N.E.W.T.s and why her parents are the way they are. They don’t call her on the fact that she’s seventeen and has never had a boyfriend. 

They understand that she’s almost _ scared _of Muggles sometimes, of their long history of hatred and violence; that she worries that there are more non-wizard-born first-years every year, and she doesn’t begrudge them on a personal level but she also doesn’t know how long the wizarding world as she knows it can hold.

The idea of trying to explain any of that to Ally fills her with a cold, creeping dread.

It’s not that she wants wizard-borns and non-wizard-borns to live parallel lives, or even that she thinks wizarding traditions are better – hell, she could write a _ book _ on the myriad ways in which her own upbringing was complete bullshit. 

But it’s _ her _ world, and her bullshit. If – when – it falls apart, she doesn’t have another world to fall back on.

* * *

Ally pings her halfway through dinner on Friday.

When Claire presses the button on her Wizarding Watch, the message appears across her vision like the subtitles on a television programme: 

_ Do you wanna meet by the door after this and go straight down? _

She holds the other button down and thinks back, _ Okay, see you soon. _

She picks up her cutlery again, pausing with a piece of parsnip speared on her fork when she realises Shani is giving her a look. 

“Who are you smiling about?”

“It’s just Ally. We’re working on our Potions project later.” Claire tries to keep the defensiveness out of her tone – though if Shani’s expression is anything to go by, she isn’t really succeeding.

“It’s ‘Ally’ now, is it? Well, enjoy your _ outreach,_” Shani sneers, and Claire abruptly sees red as she realises exactly what her friend’s implying.

She knows there are a lot of wizard-borns who still see non-wizard-borns exactly like that. Like they’re doing them a favour by being their friends, or are just doing it to make themselves feel good. Like non-wizard-borns aren’t people who are interesting and valuable in their own right.

Claire means to say something like, _ It’s not like that, _ or, _ I said she was cool. _

What actually comes out of her mouth is, “Go fuck yourself, Shani.”

An abrupt silence falls over Claire’s section of the Gryffindor table.

Claire Sittish doesn’t swear.

Well. Not unless she’s _ really _ stressed, and _ definitely _not at her friends.

Except that she just told Shani, one of her best friends for over five years, to go fuck herself. Over a Muggleborn Hufflepuff whose existence Claire has only even been aware of for about two months, and who she’s barely spoken to before this week. 

Claire slowly looks around the table, taking it in: Shani looks as horrified as if Claire had just slapped her, and she doesn’t think the look on her own face is any different. As well as Izzy and Olivia there are at least six other students listening in, their expressions ranging from shocked to fascinated.

She’s on her feet and already walking out of the Great Hall before her mind catches up, face burning and hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Her watch pings almost immediately – and her heart thumps inside her chest as she checks the screen, but it isn’t Shani. It’s Ally.

_ Jesus, are you done already? I haven’t had dessert yet. _

Relieved, Claire pings back: _ I had to make a dramatic exit. Don’t rush on my account. _

_ ‘Kay. I’ll ping you again when I’m done. _

She doesn’t reply this time, just makes a beeline for the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face, bracing her hands against the sink as she examines her reflection. She’s a little red and blotchy, but at least she’s not actually crying. Her eyes are wide, though, her jaw clenching and her chest heaving, and she doesn’t think she can hide it.

She should probably be feeling awful about what she just said, but she’s still _ furious. _

She drops her head and forces herself to take deep, slow breaths until her anger recedes enough that she thinks she can be normal around Ally for the rest of the evening. She’ll have time to feel guilty later.

When Ally pings _ I’m ready, _she takes a final deep breath and walks out of the bathroom.

Ally is leaning against the wall beside the door to the Great Hall, swamped in a thick black cloak. When she sees Claire, she pushes off the wall with one foot; Claire catches a glimpse of a pair of black Converse with laces that don’t look done up properly.

“Professor L.’s still eating.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You missed spotted dick, by the way.”

“I’m not really a spotted dick kind of girl,” Claire says before she can think better of it, and immediately freezes.

Merlin’s balls, what is _ wrong _ with her tonight?

Ally snorts. “And there was me thinking you didn’t do jokes.”

Claire grins, mostly with relief. “I have my moments.”

“So either we wait, or we go the long way round...?”

“Long way round,” Claire agrees quickly. The last thing she wants is to stay here and risk seeing Shani again before she’s ready, or to have to field even more weird looks from people who wonder why her and Ally are even talking to each other, because apparently who you are at Hogwarts is decided in first year and is never allowed to change, ever. 

“Cool cool,” Ally says, and instead of turning towards the corridor that will take them to the East Wing, leads her towards the main entrance.

They walk in silence for a while down the sloping lawn to the side of the lake, heading north towards the Quidditch pitch. There’s a chill in the air, but Claire’s cloak is warm and the stars are bright overhead, and she doesn’t think there’s anywhere she’d rather be. 

It’s easy to take Hogwarts for granted sometimes, but she _ loves _ this place. She always has, and even when she discovered the dark things it hides in its cellars, she may have been scared shitless but her love persisted, fierce and undiminished.

“So you want to be an Auror,” Ally says, apropos of nothing. When Claire turns her head she’s looking up at the night sky too, head tilted back and her hair out of her face for once. There’s a stillness in her expression Claire doesn’t think she’s seen before.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s a good job,” Claire says automatically, as she always has to everyone who’s ever asked – and it takes her a moment to realise Ally is still looking at her sceptically.

“There are loads of good jobs. Why do you want this one in particular?”

Claire hesitates.

She feels a little bit like she’s just been asked to strip naked, but _ you want to be her friend, _she reminds herself.

More than that, even: she wants Ally to look at her like she looks at her other friends. Conspiratorial, _ intimate – _and you can’t have intimacy without having, well, intimacy.

“I want to keep us safe,” she confesses, looking at the way the starlight reflects off the gently rippling surface of the loch so she doesn’t have to look at Ally’s face. “Voldemort himself may be dead, but there are always going to be Voldemorts. And somebody needs to fight them.”

She remembers standing on the chessboard, pinned between black pieces and giant spiders with light erupting from the tip of her wand as she watched Bunder fall, and realising that she’d be willing to die for this, if that was what it took.

It’s a revelation she still doesn’t know what to do with.

“I see.” There’s a sudden crack – Claire tensing before she realises it’s probably just Ally stepping on a twig. “Claire Sittish, saviour of the wizarding world, huh?”

She’s being mocked again, and it stings, even though Ally can hardly read her thoughts; but she manages to stop herself saying something decidedly unwise about people of non-magical origin and Death Eater racial theories, and instead asks only a little snippily, “Well, what do _ you _ want to do, then?”

“Hmm. I have a couple of ideas. Mostly, I want to be a herbologist. Professor L. was telling me the St. Mungo’s greenhouses are a good place to get started if I want to specialise in restorative ingredients. Eventually I want to do research into vegan potions.”

Claire frowns. Even after taking a moment to think about it, she she still doesn’t understand what potion-making could have to do with not eating meat. “I’m sorry?”

“Vegan potions. That don’t use any ingredients from creatures,” Ally explains, when it’s obvious she still isn’t getting it. “We’re so dependent on creature-based ingredients, and most of the time they have to die for them. And I think that’s wrong. And that’s not even starting on the ethics of using sentient plants.”

“But we _need_ potions,” Claire argues. “Well, not all of them, I suppose. I mean, a _Silencio _charm and a Muffling Draught do basically the same thing. But some of them we definitely do, especially in healing. Imagine a world without the Wiggenweld Potion_. _Our Healers would be overrun.”

“But there are so many variant recipes for the Wiggenweld Potion alone.” This is the first time she’s seen Ally truly _animated,_ Claire realises, her dark eyes flashing as she talks, her usual deliberate indifference entirely absent. “We don’t _know_ what might be possible because nobody’s looked at it from a creature welfare angle before. There could be viable vegan alternatives for so many of our key potions. And even if we can’t replace all of them, just _reducing _our dependence on creature ingredients would be cheaper and easier as well as kinder.”

“Wow. Yeah.” Claire manages, her head spinning a little. While she’s a little unsettled to hear that they’ve apparently been doing this wrong the whole time without realising it, she can’t deny the truth of what Ally’s saying. “That makes sense. Do you not eat meat then?”

“I don’t eat any animal products. I haven’t for almost a year now,” Ally says proudly.

Claire frowns. “Are you sure that’s healthy?”

“It is if you eat the right things. I’ve been getting recipes off the internet and giving them to Beetle. I managed to convince her that she still owes me for taking care of her spider problem.”

“The internet has recipes?”

Ally gives her a look that’s starting to become familiar. “Oh my God, Claire. The internet has _ everything. _ Let me guess, you never venture outside of M-Net. Which, by the way, is the most painfully nineties name I’ve ever heard.”

“I do too,” Claire protests, “I’m on Facebook and everything.” Even though she hardly ever checks Facebook, because her Facebook friends are almost entirely the same as her Circles friends, with the exception of a few non-magical neighbours whose holiday photos she really doesn’t need to look at.

“But do you _ understand _ the internet? LOLcats? Rickrolling? Ain’t nobody got time for that?” Ally raises her eyebrows. “What about updog?”

“What’s that?”

“Jesus Christ.” Ally rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “You’re such a Traditional. Okay. If I have to go to the Wired Wizard with you, then I will.” 

“Is that what you call us? Traditionals?”

It stings, even though Ally’s just offered to go to Hogsmeade with her in the same sentence.

“Yeah. Sometimes. Kids from old, prestigious wizarding families. Who don’t know anything about the Muggle world.” Ally looks caught out; Claire thinks she hadn’t meant to say it, or hadn’t realised it would be picked up on. Though at least she’s not trying to talk her way out of it. 

“We’re not supposed to say ‘Muggle’ any more,” Claire points out, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

Ally shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what you call it, if what you say is the same. Anyway. Time to feed that bush.” They’re approaching the greenhouses, the low light behind the glass showing that Professor Longbottom’s already arrived.

It only takes a few minutes to pour another fertiliser potion into their pot. Claire does it herself while Ally chats to the Professor, and then they head back out together, into the night.

“So,” Ally says, dragging out the word. “Potions?”

It all feels rather awkward. Uncertain, and Claire’s reminded all over again how little they really know each other.

“Yeah. We should – try to make it vegetarian. If you like.”

“Vegan,” Ally corrects, and Claire can’t really see the expression on her face with the light of the greenhouses behind them, but she thinks she sounds pleased.

“Yes. Vegan, sorry. And – I’d like you to show me all the internet stuff you were talking about. And where to find recipes.”

Ally is silent for just long enough that Claire’s starting to kick herself for assuming that had actually been a _ real _invitation when she says, “Alright. Next weekend? If you buy the drinks.”

“Okay. Deal,” Claire replies, trying to sound cool and casual and not like her smile is threatening to take over her entire face.

They work on their potion recipe until the library closes, and then Claire goes back to Gryffindor Tower and apologises to Shani. It’s not a particularly good apology on either of their parts, both still sore and not particularly remorseful, but Claire decides with a stubbornness that surprises her that it doesn’t matter, if it means her friends will think twice before talking about Ally like that again.

She spends the next week thinking a lot about vegan potions and about Ally in general, and not nearly enough about the rest of her schoolwork, though she does eventually get her History of Magic essay done on time and to an acceptable standard, after telling herself she’ll have to cancel Hogsmeade otherwise. 

She sits with Ally in Potions and Herbology now, though she stays with Shani and Olivia in Defence against the Dark Arts, and tries to figure out how she’s going to tell her friends that she’s going to Hogsmeade with Ally on Saturday. It’s not that they _ always _ go together, just... it’s always unless one of them needs to stay at school or is going on a date, and Claire tries not to think about herself and _ dates _ in the same sentence so she just refuses to think about it at all until the subject comes up over lunch on Thursday, and she blurts out before she can think better of it: “I’m going in with Ally. She’s showing me some internet stuff. For Potions.” The last part’s a lie, but they don’t have to know that.

This time nobody says anything, but Claire doesn’t miss the look they give each other.

Ally’s words from detention echo in her mind: _ Why do you care what other people think? _

So she tucks into her lunch with renewed vigour, and pretends not to notice.

* * *

After breakfast on Saturday morning she pings Ally: _ Let me know what time you wanna go in? _

She doesn’t get a reply for another half-hour, which she spends alternately tidying her dorm and stressing:_ I have to call my mum first. Meet you in the Wired Wizard at 2? _

_ Okay, _Claire pings back. This gives her a few hours to kill, which she spends catching up on her neglected Charms homework before walking alone into Hogsmeade and heading straight for the Wired Wizard.

It's packed, as usual – almost entirely with Muggleborn students. Though nobody their age wears robes as casual wear any more, there's still something different about the way people from wizarding families dress that she doesn't think she could explain, but can still recognise at a glance.

Ally's at a tiny two-person table in the far corner, still on the phone; Claire orders two mulled Butterbeers from the young man with a top knot behind the bar, and tries not to stare at the tattooed vines slowly shifting and uncurling all the way down his arms.

Ally looks up as she approaches, drinks in hand. "Okay, Claire's here," she says, and Claire realises that Ally must have been talking about her, and wonders what she said. "Yeah. Okay. Of course. Same time next week. Love you too, Mum. Love you. Bye. Bye."

Claire sneaks a look at her as she puts the drinks down on the table: Ally’s wearing a black shirt dress that looks to be two sizes too big for her, some kind of Muggle army jacket, and her usual scarf. She also has a nose ring that Claire's sure wasn't there at school.

She puts her phone down and reaches for the nearest mug, taking a long sip even though it’s still piping hot. "Mmm. Thanks."

"How's your mother?" Claire asks politely.

She wasn’t expecting to get a real answer, but when Ally says, "She's good. Well. She's lonely. It's just her at home, so. And she misses me a lot,” her curiosity is piqued. 

"Do you call her often?"

"Yeah. Every week. For the first two years I had to call her from McGonagall's office." At Claire's no doubt confused expression, she adds. "She has a phone,” her tone saying, _ obviously. _ “Muggle parents need to be able to contact her somehow. We’ve been trying to find out for years if she has the internet in there as well, but no luck yet. Anyway. I can't wait to get my Apparition licence so I can visit instead."

“Same,” Claire says with feeling. “I mean, not to visit my parents. But yeah.” 

She takes a long sip of her Butterbeer as their conversation hits a lull, and tries to figure out how to kick-start it again. Everything about Ally is interesting, but she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know yet, where to start or what’s off-limits, and just saying ‘Tell me everything about yourself’ is more than a bit too intense.

“Alright.” She looks up as Ally starts dragging her chair around to Claire’s side of the table, picking up her phone. “Have you ever heard of Doggy?”

Claire has not heard of Doggy, which it turns out is spelled D-O-G-E. Or Distracted Boyfriend, or Life Hacks. She’s seen Grumpy Cat before, at least, though she didn’t know what it was called. 

“I’m starting you off with the popular ones,” Ally explains, hands wrapped around her mug as Claire scrolls through her phone, the rising steam from her Butterbeer wreathing her face. “Obvious jokes, nothing too specific. These are only the Muggle memes, of course.”

“Wait. There are magical memes as well?”

“_Oh _yeah. Give me my phone back a moment?” Ally logs into M-Net, opening Circles and then a group called YER A LIZARD HARRY, that Claire doesn’t think she’s ever heard of before. The grammar makes her fingers twitch.

She asks, “What’s this?”

“Oh my God. So. According to Luna Lovegood’s biography of Harry Potter, when Rubeus Hagrid turned up to escort him to Hogwarts, he said, ‘You’re a wizard, Harry’, and Harry said, ‘I’m a what?’” When she sees Claire’s expression, she adds, “Okay, it’s not particularly funny. But it’s a really relatable experience for most Muggleborn kids, so it got repeated a lot on the first Circles groups, and then parodied, and it sort of became the original Muggleborn meme. Look.”

Ally clicks through a few images and points to a three-panel picture: the first is of Hagrid with the words “Yer a lizard, Harry” printed on top; the second picture is an actual lizard’s head on human shoulders, and the third a young Hermione Granger, laughing.1

Claire takes Ally’s phone back and clicks through the pictures, in growing fascination. The group is a hodgepodge of different jokes, some of them recurring: not knowing how to find Platform 9 3/4, various things about wizard-borns not being able to use Muggle appliances, and different iterations of the ‘You’re a wizard, Harry’ meme.

“Wow,” she says in the end, for the lack of anything else to say. “I had no idea about any of this.”

“Do you actually have any Muggleborn friends?” Ally asks, with a raised eyebrow that says she thinks she already knows what the answer is. 

Claire sighs. Ideally she’d like to not sound like a stuck-up wizard-born, but she’s not sure if that’s possible. “No. It’s not on purpose, I suppose I just – gravitated towards the kids who had the same sort of experiences I did. The kids from non-wizard families – it was like they were talking a foreign language at first.” She thinks Ally will probably realise that it kind of still is.

“Oh, same. The difference is that you’re not expected to learn ours,” she replies sardonically, already draining the dregs of her Butterbeer, and Claire feels suddenly like she’s sprung another trap she didn’t even realise was there.

“I suppose they can’t cover everything in Non-Magical Studies?” she tries; but that doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say either, as Ally sighs and pushes her hair out of her eyes, only for it to immediately fall back in place.

“If you want to have this conversation, you can get me another drink.”

“Alright,” Claire agrees, a little hurt, and gets up, even though her own drink is barely half-finished.

It takes a few minutes for her to get another round in, but that time doesn’t get her any closer to figuring out what it is that Ally wants her to say; so when she brings their new drinks over and sits back down it’s in slightly sullen silence. 

“Thanks.” Ally takes another sip, grimacing when she inevitably scalds her tongue, and folds her arms on the table. “Okay. So. Here’s your lesson on why Non-Magical Studies is solid gold bullshit. Number one, it’s designed to teach wizards how to blend in in the Muggle world like it’s a foreign country they’re going to on holiday. It doesn’t try and actually teach anything _ about _ it, because the Ministry of Magic is stuck in the past and believes that the wizarding world can continue to live entirely separately from the Muggle world, even though they share the same space and there are so many ways it’s affected _ by _it. 

“And number two, it takes _ no _ account of the fact that more and more of its students every year are Muggleborn. I asked McGonagall how many once and she wouldn’t tell me, but in our year I think it must be a quarter at least. And we have to sit through the exact same lessons as wizard-borns, learning what train tickets are and how to use a toaster. I’ve been using a fucking toaster since I was five years old. And all this while _ nobody _ bothers actually explaining to us how the _ wizarding _world works and we’re just expected to pick it up on our own.” She takes another drink, her mug clattering on the table. “So yeah. That’s why I’m pissed off.” 

For a few moments, Claire has no idea what to say.

Ally’s anger is plain on her face, and Claire may have no experience with dealing with other people when they’re like this but she has a hunch that nothing she can say would make it right.

But before she can come up with anything, Ally’s already back in full flow: “Oh, and you know what else is bullshit? Muggleborns are absorbed into the wizarding world, which is like, okay, sure. Everyone has to learn how to control their magic. But what if you want out? There’s a blog I read, a guy called Ex-Wizard. He decided he didn’t want to live a parallel existence to his girlfriend and the rest of his family, so when he left school he decided he wanted to just get a normal house and a normal job and not stay in the wizarding world at all. But a Hogwarts education is completely fucking useless for anything except doing magic. It took him till he was twenty-five to get a degree. And then good luck explaining that to Muggle employers. It’s ruined his life.”

Claire doesn’t think she’s ever felt this out of her depth before.

Ally is just looking at her over the rim of her mug, waiting for her to say something, a test she’s never studied for. 

“Okay,” she says carefully, “so... what needs to happen to make it better?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Ally replies, though she doesn’t sound particularly glad at all. “First, we make Non-Magical Studies a core class for students from wizarding families and create a wizarding world orientation class for Muggleborns. That would be a start. But for real change, the Hogwarts curriculum needs a complete overhaul. Teach at least maths, history and science so that any wizard who wants to go to a Muggle university can do that. And scrap Arithmancy and Divination, nobody needs that shit.” She rolls her eyes. “But what do I know, right?” 

“They should ask the students,” Claire says, still watching Ally’s face closely for any indication that she’s getting this completely wrong. “What we think we need to learn to understand each other better. I – never took Non-Magical Studies.”

Ally’s smile is a twisted thing. “I know you didn’t.” She shrugs, drains half of her drink in one go. “But thank you for not getting defensive, I guess.”

“What you said before. I want to. Learn your language,” Claire blurts out. Ally is still looking at her coolly; her own face is hot. “If you’ll teach me.”

“Wow. I never would have thought three months ago that Claire Sittish would be asking me to teach her about the Muggle world.” Ally’s voice softens for the first time when she says, “If we’re going to be friends then I won’t go easy on you.”

“I don’t want you to.” She doesn’t know where it comes from, but Claire _ means _it, more than she thinks she’s meant most of the things she’s ever said. “You’re the only person I know who says what they think. I just – want you to be real with me.”

“Yeah. That explains a lot.” As Ally’s lip curls, Claire thinks she’s starting to recognise her teasing face. “Let’s be real then, what do you think of me?”

Claire’s heart is suddenly in her throat – but she knows that if she wants this to work, she’ll need to take the plunge.

“I think you’re smart. Talented. Not academically, but practically,” she starts slowly, confidence growing when Ally doesn’t interrupt, just listens. “You know a lot of things that I don’t. You like to challenge people, but not in a mean way. And – you pretend you don’t care about anything, but you do.”

When she doesn’t say anything more, Ally prompts, “Are you not gonna ask me what I think of you?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Claire takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and asks, “What do you think of me?”

“Well, at first I thought you were exactly as stuck-up and obsessed with your own image as I’d always expected. But then I realised that you wanted to be different. And that there was more going on beneath the surface. You want to learn about things you don’t understand yet. You’re loyal to the people and things you care about. And I bet that once you decide someone’s your friend, there’s no shaking you.”

As Ally gives her unflinching assessment of Claire’s faults, she’s surprised to find that it isn’t as bad as she expected. She’s always feared being judged and found wanting, and so has never asked anyone what they truly think of her; it’s only now that she’s realising what it is to really be _ seen. _

“This will take me a bit of getting used to,” she confesses. “Just saying what I think.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Ally finishes her drink, and almost immediately reaches for Claire’s half-finished one. “So. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

For a moment Claire almost wants to just come out (ha) and say it.

They may not really know each other yet, but Ally’s made it clear that Claire can take her or leave her, just as she is; Claire can’t believe she’d care about _ this. _

She almost makes herself do it.

Instead, she says, “You first.”

“Hmm. Difficult. I tell my mum everything.” Ally puts her finger to her lips for a moment. “I don’t think anyone in school knows this one, though – when I got here, I tried to argue the Sorting Hat into putting me in Slytherin.”

Claire blinks. “Why on earth–?” 

She doesn’t think the idea that one could _ argue _ with the Sorting Hat had even occurred to her.

“Because I was a dumb eleven-year-old and it sounded like the coolest house.” Ally shrugs, fiddling with a hangnail; she doesn’t seem embarrassed about it. “My head was spinning trying to take in everything that was happening to me and I guess that was what it latched onto. I was still arguing with it when it announced Hufflepuff to the entire room. I told it to get fucked.” She grins. “It was right, of course. I would have been the worst Slytherin ever.” She looks Claire straight in the eyes. “Now you.”

Claire _ wants _to tell her, but that famous Gryffindor bravery seems to have deserted her right when she needs it.

Ally is Muggleborn, after all, and she’s read enough on the internet to know a lot of Muggles are still prejudiced. She probably shouldn’t risk it, at least not yet.

So she says, “I’ve always wanted someone to give me a nickname.”

Without missing a beat, Ally replies, “Alright. I’ll call you Outreach.”

“I meant a _ nice _ nickname,” Claire protests, but she can’t entirely hide her smile.

Ally shrugs, though she’s grinning. “You wanted me to be real.”

“This is you seeing if you can be friends with a ‘Traditional’, is it?” Claire asks lightly. 

She’s decided she doesn’t mind what the answer is, if it means Ally is willing to give her a try.

* * *

They meet up again for the fire seed bush on Sunday evening. As they’re walking down to the greenhouses, Ally says, “Time to feed our bush,” so deliberately that Claire actually feels herself go a little red – and Ally immediately bursts out laughing. 

“Your _ face,_” she says, and immediately hiccups, which shocks Claire into a giggle of her own.

She’s not used to being laughed at, but when it’s Ally doing it, she decides she doesn’t mind so much.

Over the next week, they spend all their Potions lessons and a few free periods working on their fire seed potion recipe, which is proving far trickier than Claire expected. She hasn’t been able to find any references to brewing without creature ingredients in the library, and going back to Hogsmeade and looking on M-Net isn’t an option when the recipe is due on Friday.

Claire briefly considers asking Professor Patel for advice, but dismisses the idea just as quickly. It’s probably stupid, but she’d much rather impress her by figuring it out on her own. 

She’s had to do most of the reading herself – she pretty much insisted, once she realised what Ally’s reading speed was – but Ally’s always got an opinion and seems to have a knack for creative ingredient combinations, once or twice objecting to something that Claire had thought was fine, and then backing it up with such solid reasoning that she had her fully convinced.

They have different skills, but that’s fine. It means they complement each other.

It’s almost the end of sixth period on Thursday when she thinks they’ve finally cracked it, and Claire’s stomach has been growling for at least the last half-hour. “Okay,” she says, tapping the parchment with the end of her quill to make sure Ally’s paying attention. “Our active ingredients for one vial of potion are: three fire seeds, ten grams of dittany, five grams of wormwood, ten grams of star grass, twenty-five millilitres of plangentine, and seven drops of oil of comfrey. We can suggest boom berries or staghorn mushroom as possible alternatives in case Professor Patel thinks something in our selection will be a problem. But I’m drawing a complete blank on thickening agents. Everything we’ve looked at uses flobberworm mucus, egg white or some kind of gelatin.”

She sighs, dropping her quill on the pages of her notebook. Beside her, Ally has slumped further and further forward as the afternoon went on, to the point where she almost looks like she’s taking a nap.

“Hmm,” Ally says into her folded arms. “If egg white would work... we could just use...” she mumbles something that sounds like _ china seeds. _

Claire pokes her with the end of her quill. “What seeds?”

“Chia seeds,” Ally repeats, raising her head. “They’re little black seeds that are used a lot in vegan cooking. They go all gloopy when soaked, so we can puree them to get like a gel. We can get some from the kitchens, they’ve been using them in my chocolate mousse. Or if Patel really doesn’t go for it then we could try seaweed or algae or something. I think that gets gloopy as well.”

Now that she’s been prompted, Claire suddenly remembers something she read this morning while they were stuck on an alternative to billywig stings, without realising its significance. “Snakeweed extract? That should be readily available.”

“Sure.” Ally grins. “We’re pretty fucking good at this, huh?”

_ Boasting is unbecoming, young lady. _

Claire hears her mother’s voice in her head, and mentally gives it the finger.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “I think we are.”

The bell rings before she’s had the chance to finish writing up a clean copy of the recipe, but there will still be time this evening, after they’ve fed the fire seed bush. They separate for dinner, as usual, and Claire works her way mindlessly through meatballs with onion sauce, mashed potatoes and red cabbage, only noticing what she’s eating long enough to wonder what the house elves have served Ally instead of the meatballs, and if it’s actually good.

Someone pokes her in the arm.

“Oi. Earth to Claire.” Olivia’s looking at her curiously. “Are you even listening? You’ve barely said a word.”

“Sorry,” Claire smiles apologetically. “I’m still trying to figure something out for Potions.” 

“Alright.” As she expected, that’s enough information for Olivia, who’s only taking Potions because she feels like she has to; she immediately turns away from Claire and launches back into the conversation she was having with Izzy about something Matilda Plank said to someone else. Claire wonders why they even care.

She keeps half an eye on the Hufflepuff table, so she can see when Ally gets up.

As usual, they take the long way round. The moon is bright and full tonight, and Claire wonders how long this will last: their Potions project will be over before Christmas, and even though Ally has said they’re friends, it’s barely been more than a fortnight. Soon they’ll no longer have to spend time together for school, and she doesn’t know if just wanting to will be enough.

She doesn’t know why it matters to her so much.

As they pass near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Ally asks, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

“Oh, Merlin. Erm.” Claire racks her brains. She’s getting used to Ally’s random questions, but that doesn’t make them any easier to answer. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done _ anything _ that would qualify as crazy. I got drunk at my parents’ friends’ party during the summer and threw up in one of their planters?” 

Ally nods approvingly. “Not bad, not bad. What were you drinking?”

“Wine? And Pimms. And then more wine.”

“And did anybody catch you?”

“No? I threw some soil on top of it and hoped for the best.” 

“That’ll do. Mine was summer term last year, I ate some mystery mushrooms from the Forbidden Forest.”

“_Ally!_” Even though it clearly worked out alright, Claire still panics – perhaps because this is so far from _anything _she could ever imagine herself doing. This is like – _big trouble _territory. “That’s insane!” she hisses, even though there’s no-one around to hear them. “You could have been killed! Or expelled!”

“It was okay, I was a badger. And trust me, I know my mushrooms.” Ally taps Claire’s shoulder with her wand, producing a swirl of silver mist that sprouts a row of shimmering purple-grey mushrooms; Claire raises a hand and then hesitates, unable to decide whether to brush them away. “I was planning to eat them and then get out of the forest and change back, but I started tripping balls and forgot what I was doing. So I was tripping balls _ as _ a badger for like four hours. I thought I was a centaur for half of it. It was _ wild._” 

Claire hasn’t wanted to push, but she has wanted to ask about this for what feels like forever.

“How did you learn how to do... _ you know?_” she asks, but it’s too late: they’re already at the greenhouse, warm light emanating from behind the glass, the door creaking on its hinges as another student leaves.

This time Ally feeds the bush, while Claire leans against the workbench and waits. She’s simultaneously imagining impressing Professor Patel with their innovative potion recipe and worrying that it will fail completely, which given the novelty of what they’re doing, is certainly possible.

What if Professor Patel doesn’t understand what they’re trying to do, or worse, thinks it’s stupid? What if –

Ally’s voice cuts through her thoughts. 

“Okay, done. How long has it been now?”

“Fifteen days,” Claire replies, turning back towards her.

“Okay. Well, it’s got another week, I suppose –”

Ally snaps her mouth shut right as Claire notices something shifting in the pot – and a moment later a red shoot pokes its way up out of the soil, immediately catching alight as it meets the air, burning with a tiny crimson flame.

Ally clamps a hand on her arm. “_Holy shit_,” she breathes.

Claire nods. “I see it.”

“It _ worked._”

Claire’s seen Ally’s expression animated before, in passion and in anger, but this is something new. This is _ joy, _ her mouth hanging open and her dark eyes shining, and Claire decides then and there that it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Then the reality of what’s happening hits her like a train.

She has a _ crush _ on Ally Reinhold.

_ Oh no. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [YER A LIZARD HARRY](https://static0.thethingsimages.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/wizardharry.jpg)


	2. The Shoot

As they stand in silence in front of the workbench, shoulder to shoulder, Ally’s fingers digging into Claire’s arm and the tiny crimson flame flickering like a candle, a strangely detached part of Claire’s mind thinks, _ actually, this explains a lot. _

“Holy shit indeed,” she says eventually, for lack of anything more appropriate.

“I don’t want to leave it,” Ally murmurs, as if speaking too loudly could shatter this fragile, hopeful moment. “I wish I could smuggle it into my dorm.”

_ We made this together, _Claire realises. Took a possibility and nurtured it, and gave it life. 

She thinks she’s starting to understand what Ally sees in this whole plants business.

“Getting it inside without anyone noticing would be difficult. I mean, it _ is _on fire," she says in the end, inadequate as ever.

Ally squeezes Claire’s arm, and then drops her hand. 

A moment later she’s getting her phone out, holding it up before the flaming shoot. "For my mum. Look, my new phone does these motion photo things. Wizarding photos, eat your heart out.” 

It's probably too gauche to say aloud, but Claire's really not sure how any wizard can think that Muggles are stupid when they've already compensated for so many of their shortcomings with technological solutions, and in many ways even surpassed the magical world.

“Do you already have plants in your dorm?”

“Yeah. Loads. “I’ve got a Cobra Lily. And a Fanged Geranium.”

Claire stares. “Surely that’s against the rules,” she protests, but realises the hollowness of her words as soon as she says them. She’s talking to an _ unregistered Animagus _ who’s snuck into the Forbidden Forest, for Merlin’s sake, what are a few carnivorous plants in comparison?

“I won’t tell if you don’t, _ Prefect. _ Though to be honest I’m thinking about replanting them outside. They’re really not indoor plants, I have to bring them insects all the time and it’s a total pain in the arse.” 

“The Professor might let you plant them in the greenhouse patches?”

She feels like Professor Longbottom would be understanding of a little rule-breaking, of the non-dangerous kind, at least. He fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, after all.

Ally winks. “Where do you think I got them from in the first place?”

“Oh,” Claire replies weakly, as she has a sudden mental image of her and Ally secretly re-planting her stolen plants beside the greenhouses under cover of night.

The sound of the greenhouse door opening and closing behind them reminds her where they are; that they’re talking about _ plant theft, _however quietly, and the Professor could come back at any moment. 

“I should go and finish the recipe.”

“Okay. You want me to come?”

“No, it’s fine. I just need to copy out a neat version before the library closes.”

Claire has a plan: delay her impending emotional crisis for the next half-hour by concentrating on work. Then, go back to her dorm room, pleading a headache if any of her friends are there, get into bed and cast _ Muffliato _ on the curtains. _ Then _ she can freak out.

“Cool. I owe you one.”

Before she can second-guess herself, Claire says, “Take me to see your Fanged Geranium. Then we’re even.”

Ally says lightly, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

Claire somehow manages to choke on thin air.

Once they’ve parted ways inside the castle, Claire goes straight up to the library and copies out the recipe in her best handwriting, finishing the final sentence just as Madame Pince’s _ Sonorus-_enhanced voice echoes through the stacks, announcing closing time. She gathers up her things and goes back to Gryffindor Tower, managing to pass unnoticed through the common room and up the stairs – but when she opens the door to her dorm room, her heart sinks to see Olivia and Shani already there, lounging on Shani’s bed and watching something on her tablet, and Claire feels abruptly like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“Hey,” she says casually, going over to the trunk at the foot of her bed and tapping the lock with her wand, not looking at them as she quickly re-evaluates. To be seen getting into bed at quarter past eight would be too suspicious even for her.

“Hey. Potions homework all done?” Shani asks.

“Yes! _ Finally._” She lifts the lid of her trunk and waits as the shelving inside expands fully, picking up her toilet bag and taking her dressing gown off the hanger before tapping the chest again to fold the shelves away again. “Enjoy your show. I’m gonna take a bath.”

She sees almost nobody on her walk up to the fifth floor, and the prefects’ bathroom itself is blessedly empty. She fills the bath to a near-scorching temperature and adds pink rose-scented bubbles, slides into the water with a groan, rests her head on the marble shelf behind her with a spare towel as a pillow, and closes her eyes. 

Right then.

_ I have a crush on Ally. _

_ This is.... inconvenient. _

She almost laughs. It’s far more than just inconvenient: it’s wonderful and horrible and horribly _ real, _and like nothing she’s ever felt before.

Sure, she’s had crushes; that’s how she knows she likes girls. But they’ve all been the _ safe _ kind of crush where she’s never had to worry about anything possibly coming of it. Rashida Haddad was a seventh year to Claire’s fifth, star Keeper of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and the Head Boy’s girlfriend; Professor Patel is, well, a professor; Cadenza Porterhouse, star Chaser of the Tutshill Tornadoes, is known only to Claire as the forever-winking poster on the wall above her bed. 

But Ally – 

Ally’s her age. They’re _ friends. _She appears to be single. It’s not impossible she might like girls.

It’s not impossible she might like _ Claire. _

Or she might laugh. Or Claire’s feelings might make Ally feel awkward around her, and ruin their budding friendship. 

Or, if she _ does _ like Claire, then Claire would have to tell her friends, her classmates – her _ parents, _ someone else would tell her parents if she didn’t get there first, and she doesn’t know what they’d _ do – _

She’s feeling far too hot, and a little dizzy.

She reaches for her wand and takes the water temperature down to a more manageable level, then sends a burst of cool, fresh healing energy through her own forehead, banishing the headache that’s starting to form there.

She hasn’t felt this unmoored since the summer between fourth and fifth year, when she typed ‘why don’t I like boys’ into Google one quiet, lonely evening, and consequently blew her entire world wide open.

It took more than a few sleepless nights, but by the time she went back to school, she’d come up with a plan of action: keep her head down, study hard, graduate with flying colours. Get into Auror training, move out. Then she’d be an adult. Then she could find someone to date, and if her family didn’t like it, well, they would be welcome to their opinions, but they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. 

Not that it’s been easy, not by a long shot. She spent the whole of last year inventing male celebrity crushes and resisting attempts at matchmaking from her friends as well as her family; standing apart as all around her, boys and girls were gossiping, crushing, kissing, getting together. Only knowing that all the other options were even worse kept her resolute.

But now there’s Ally. Who’s so different to everyone else Claire knows, and who she wants to know _ everything _ about. Who she can imagine holding – _ kissing _ – and she doesn’t dare imagine anything _ more _ but even just that is enough to make her almost giddy with nerves.

_ Shit. _She has no idea how she’s going to be normal with Ally if this is how she’s feeling inside.

_ No, _ she tells herself firmly in the next breath, _ it’s going to be okay, _because it has to be. She’s a Sittish, for Merlin’s sake; if there’s one thing she knows how to do it’s keep her composure, however trying the circumstances. 

Her new plan of action is already clear: she will rinse off and get out of this bath, go back to her dorm, and spend some time talking to her friends; then she will go to sleep and wake up tomorrow morning, hand in their Potions recipe, go to her lessons, do her homework. As far as her friendship with Ally is concerned she will let her set the tone, and not tie herself in knots over things that haven’t happened, and will probably never happen at all.

* * *

Once Claire’s made a plan, she sticks to it; and it certainly helps that over the next few days, she barely has time to think about anything other than schoolwork. She spent so much time on the Potions recipe that she hasn’t even started her Principles of Conjuration essay that’s due first thing on Monday, and it keeps her busy every spare moment until she completes her final draft just after one o’clock on Sunday.

She heads down to the Great Hall just in time for a late lunch, and is tucking into a plate of sausages and eggs with hot buttered toast and a cup of milky coffee, mentally going over her performance spells for Conjuration, when she gets a ping from Ally.

_ Hey Outreach, fancy a Muggle culture lesson? _

Claire’s heart speeds up. She tells it firmly to calm down.

_ Sure, what do you have in mind? _

_ Ever heard of Spongebob? _

Claire, unsurprisingly, has not heard of Spongebob, but before she can figure out how to word a reply that won’t make that too painfully obvious, she gets another ping.

_ Meet me in the Entrance Hall in five. _

When she leaves the Great Hall Ally’s already waiting for her by the doors, leaning against the wall as usual and playing with her Wizarding Watch. It’s the first time Claire’s seen her up close since her revelation, and her heart’s in her throat as she approaches, but Ally looks the same as she always has: all blacks and yellows, perfect eyeliner, hair permanently in her face. She’s always been beautiful; the only difference is that now, Claire has noticed.

She looks up, shaking her fringe out of her eyes. “Hey, wanna see the Hufflepuff common room?”

Claire blinks. “Surely that’s not allowed?”

Ally shrugs. “Eh, as long as you’re with one of us then nobody gives a shit. Come on.”

So Claire follows her downstairs in the direction of the kitchens, for the first time since detention last year, wondering if kids from other houses have also been coming into the Gryffindor common room this entire time and she’s somehow never noticed. Instead of going up to the tickly pear, Ally ducks into an alcove on the right and taps in a distinct pattern on one of the large barrels stored there – then there’s a creaking sound, and the lid of one of the other barrels swings open like a door, revealing a passageway behind it.

“After me.” Ally crouches down, and crawls in; Claire follows, thankful that the floor is padded beneath her knees and wondering why on earth Hufflepuff would keep such a ridiculously impractical entrance in place – what if there was an emergency? – but thankfully it’s little more than a metre before she’s through and can stand up again, the door swinging closed behind her.

She knows intellectually that the room she’s in must be below ground, and the light streaming in through the high, round windows is both warmer and brighter than the grey daylight outside. The common room is a riot of greenery and copper amongst the stonework, furnished in yellow and black, with the same round wooden doors leading off to the dorms, and Claire loves it immediately.

She gives an awkward wave to the heads that have turned in their direction, though the chatter in the room continues undiminished, and follows Ally over to one of the sofas, where the gangly, curly-haired boy she always sees with Ally is sitting alone, stroking what appears to be a furry-leaved plant. 

“Yo. Claire, Justin, Justin, Claire.” Ally waves her hand between them as Justin gets up. “Claire’s never seen Spongebob.”

Justin raises his eyebrows in a manner not dissimilar to a disappointed parent. He’s even taller up close. “Then I’m glad you got to her in time. To the Box?”

Ally grins. “To the Box.”

Claire follows them towards the corner of the common room, where one of the same large barrels is lying on its side. It’s topped with a mountain of cushions and is being used by a few of the younger kids as a sofa; but Justin walks up to the side and taps it with his wand, and it swings open just as the door to the common room had. He bends down and crawls inside, and Claire goes in behind him, wondering where _ this _ one leads.

Ahead of her, Justin lights casts a light spell, and it immediately becomes clear: this barrel doesn’t lead anywhere. Instead it’s transfigured to be slightly larger on the inside, and the cushioning beneath her knees is actually a makeshift sofa, covered in pillows and extending half way up the left-hand wall. Justin lights two small lanterns affixed to the opposite wall, and sits down at the far end. Claire sits a respectable distance away, and then moves closer when Ally lands almost in her lap at her other side. 

“Welcome to the Box,” Justin intones grandly. “Two’s company, three’s a party, so shift up a bit. Observe the rules, et cetera et cetera.” He taps his wand against a rough piece of parchment affixed to the far end of the barrel, illuminating it; Claire obediently starts reading, and stops just as quickly when she realises the first line says, ‘NO INAPPROPRIATE ACTIVITIES’. 

“It’s charmed to block all sound from entering or leaving, though I’m afraid we haven’t figured out how to do anything about the _ quality _ of said sound yet. Or the picture size.” He has a tablet in his hands, Claire notices, and is scrolling through a list. “Now to pop your Spongebob cherry, I was thinking the Camping Episode.”

“Do it,” Ally agrees from Claire’s other side, pulling a paper bag of Every-Flavour Beans out of her pocket and offering them as Justin searches for the file. Claire takes a handful, and pops the first one into her mouth; it tastes kind of like lemon, but _ weird _ lemon, and she resolves to ask about it later as Justin puts the tablet on a small shelf between the lanterns, and the cartoon starts to play.

The first few minutes are pretty hard to make sense of. The characters are an actual sponge with a face, wearing clothes, a pink triangle of some sort, and a – blue squid? Jellyfish? She doesn’t quite understand who they are or why they’re going camping when they’re under the sea, and worries she’s never going to understand – but then she laughs out loud when the pink triangle character goes to eat a marshmallow and punches straight through the glass bowl he’s using as a helmet instead of taking it off first, and Ally gives her a sly grin that says she’s not beyond hope after all.

They watch two more episodes before Justin says, “I’m afraid our time’s up. We have a strict half-hour limit per group. Come on, kids,” and as they crawl back out into the light of the common room, there are four first- or second-years already waiting.

“You two sit down,” Ally says, “I’ll go get snacks,” and before Claire can say anything in reply, she’s already heading over to the common room door.

“Ally’s our snacks queen,” Justin says, sitting back down beside the furry plant and patting the cushions next to him until Claire joins him. “The house elves will do anything for her thanks to your detention.”

“She told you about it?”

Claire realises a moment too late that she should have tried to keep the surprise out of her voice; and then a moment later that even just asking the question already said enough.

“Of course. She tells me everything.” He starts stroking the furry plant again, and Claire realises the leaves are actually pushing up into his touch, like an animal. “We’re pretty close friends.”

“I didn’t tell my friends what happened,” Claire confesses, before she can think better of it. She doesn’t really know why she’s telling him – they hardly know each other – but there’s something about the warmth and light of the common room that seems to invite confidences.

Justin’s head tilts in curiosity. “No? Why not?”

Or it could be because hardly knowing each other means he has no preconceptions about who she’s supposed to be.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly, testing the waters. “It seemed too – unbelievable.”

Justin snorts. It makes him sound exactly like Ally. “Yeah, right. You’ve still got nothing on Harry Potter.”

“I come bearing snacks!” Ally announces right at that moment, saving Claire from having to decide what she wants to say next. “Vegan snacks. And I found these two in the corridor.” She jerks a thumb towards the two students following behind her – both non-magical origin, Claire notes, one a pale Ravenclaw girl with a long blonde plait who she vaguely recognises as Molly-someone-or-other, and the other Tom Hawkins, a Slytherin who’s in Claire’s Transfiguration class, who has always seemed fairly decent in her opinion.

“Does everyone come here at weekends then?” Claire asks, trying for casual, though it comes out more surprised.

“Yeah. Because one of the many bullshit things about this school is how difficult it makes it to hang out with people outside your own house.” Ally rolls her eyes. “Usual rant redacted.” 

Claire’s never thought about it. She made friends with her dorm-mates, the way she was expected to; and now she wonders for the first time what would have happened if she’d made friends not with them, but with different people entirely. Who she would have become instead.

It’s too big a thought for this moment: Ally is handing out pots of hummus with little carrot and cucumber sticks for dipping, vegetable crisps and salted mixed nuts, and their group polishes them off in very little time indeed. Claire is sandwiched between Ally and Justin on the sofa, Tom in an armchair opposite and Molly on a cushion on the floor, and they’re talking about Tom’s little sister, who Claire gathers is non-magical and in her first year of secondary school.

“My parents were relieved, frankly,” Tom says, reaching forward to snag a handful of crisps from the bowl Justin’s holding. “They said they didn’t want both of us to have to move away, but I’m pretty sure they just don’t trust any of this.” He gestures expansively around the room. “They’re both teachers. After they saw the curriculum for first year they started homeschooling me in the holidays. I’m probably the only Hogwarts student with five GCSEs.”

“Would you want to get a Muggle job?” Molly asks. She’s leaning her back against the armchair, craning her neck to look up at him.

“Well, I’m thinking about becoming a web developer for M-Net. Programming is one of the few skilled Muggle jobs where you don’t need any qualifications if you can prove you’re good at it. So I wouldn’t be using magic, but I’d be working mainly with wizards.”

“And these go-between jobs are only gonna get more common. Another thing they should be telling us about that they aren’t. Though I guess it makes us the star employees of the future.” Ally puts on a posh voice that sounds a little too much like Claire’s for her own comfort. “Fully at home in both magical and non-magical worlds.”

Claire thinks she’s learned more about her own blind spots in the last few weeks than she did in the first seventeen years of her life, let alone the things she doesn’t know that she doesn’t know yet. And though she values tradition and stability, she can recognise their drawbacks: the world isn’t what it was a hundred or fifty or even twenty years ago, and the slower the wizarding world is to adapt to the inevitable crisis of secrecy on the horizon, the deeper the shock of it will eventually be.

And when the institutions that are supposed to help them are failing, how will they help each other?

“You could start a club.”

There’s a horrible moment where they all just look at her in silence, and Claire’s torn between regretting ever saying anything and wondering defensively why this is apparently such an astonishing idea to everyone else. 

“Well, I’m intrigued.” Justin is the first to speak, turning towards her on the couch. “Go on.”

“Okay. Well, Hogwarts isn’t giving us the tools we need for the modern world,” Claire explains, confidence slowly growing. “We know that already. And the last time it let its students down, they took matters into their own hands. I’m not equating us with Dumbledore’s Army, of course, but the principle’s the same. If they won’t teach us what we need, then we’ll have to teach each other.”

“I like it.” Molly is nodding. “We’ve certainly got no shortage of ideas between us. Are you thinking an official school club?”

“Yes, of course,” Claire replies, though in truth she’s not really sure she understands the purpose of the question. 

“Hmm. We’re not really _ official school club _types,” Ally says beside her, and as she registers her decidedly unconvinced expression, Claire has to fight not to let her own sudden upset show on her face.

Ally’s in no way obligated to agree with her, of course, but Claire just doesn’t get it. Ally cares so much about all the problems there are now; why isn’t she equally excited by the chance to make things better?

But before she can figure out how to respond, Tom says: “Starting a proper school club is more work than just getting a casual group together, of course. It means convincing our teachers. But it has its advantages too. Proper advertising and promotion to students, for example. And if our end goal is to improve Non-Magical Studies teaching? The existence of a closely-related school club is a clear sign that the current curriculum is lacking. Whether we need to convince Professor Alhambra, or Professor Alhambra needs to convince the Ministry.”

“_Professor Alhambra _hates my fucking guts,” Ally mutters darkly. 

“So you stay in the shadows,” Molly replies. “Let someone else be the leader, at least on paper.”

“Hmm.” Ally’s expression turns sly. “What do you say then, Claire? Seeing as you’re the apple of McGonagall’s eye.”

“What? I’m really not,” Claire protests. She’s never been sure that Headmistress McGonagall even _ likes _ her. “And I know a lot less about Non-Magical Studies than everyone else here does.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a Prefect,” Justin counters. “You’re from a wizarding family. You’re _ Establishment. _And we need someone like you for two reasons: one, to be our polite face to the staff, and two, to convince other students from wizarding families that they should actually give a shit. Otherwise it’ll just be us in a room, mouthing off to a dozen other Muggleborns who already agree with us.” 

When Claire hesitates, Ally nudges her with her elbow. “I’m in. But only if you are.”

This is _ definitely _going to be more than Claire has time for this year. 

And she feels ashamed to admit it, even to herself, but part of her hesitation is that she knows it will change how people see her. Her peers from wizarding families may follow Muggle fashion and watch the BBC and have Facebook, but to actually _ care _ about Muggle issues is still deeply uncool. 

And however much she’s changed inside, until now it’s _ only _ been inside. This will be the first time she’s changing what she _ does. _

_ Gryffindors do what’s right, though, even when it’s not easy. _

_ Especially when it’s not easy. _

She nods, and says with determination, “Okay. I’m in.”

They agree to get together again next weekend to come up with a plan that they can present to Headmistress McGonagall for approval. Claire excuses herself shortly afterwards, mindful that she’s frittered away most of the afternoon and still needs to fit in practice for her Conjuration performance spells before tomorrow’s lesson, and it’s only when she’s lying in bed that night that she realises she missed the opportunity to see Ally’s plant collection.

It’s okay, though. Now there’s another thread tying her to Ally, and she no longer has to worry about being dropped as soon as their coursework’s completed. After all, Ally wouldn’t have agreed to this if she didn’t truly want to be friends.

* * *

Their next Potions lesson is on Tuesday morning. For the first period they’re preparing to brew Strong _ Exstimulo _ Potions while Professor Patel calls them up one pair at a time to discuss their recipes; Claire knows she and Ally will be almost last if not last of all, and she has so much riding on this that the wait is going to be nothing short of excruciating.

After Claire’s spent about ten minutes trying and failing to take in the potion instructions while also trying not to jiggle her leg constantly under the desk, Ally pushes her workbook over onto Claire’s half of the desk, tapping it to get her attention.

Under a messy doodle of a giant plant eating someone she’s written, _ What’s got into you? _

_ I’m nervous, _Claire writes, letters small and tidy next to Ally’s scrawl.

It’s a lot easier when she doesn’t actually have to say the words out loud.

_ Relax. Even if we F’d something up I bet we still get points for having the most interesting idea _

_ I hope you’re right. _

Just for a moment, Ally’s hand covers hers, and squeezes.

It doesn’t cure her anxiety entirely, but she does at least feel a little bit better after that; and she’s managed to mostly commit the _ Exstimulo _ recipe to memory by the time Professor Patel calls out, “Reinhold and Sittish,” and they make their way up to the front of the classroom, Claire digging her fingernails into her palms as she goes. 

Professor Patel has Claire’s parchment in front of her on the desk. “Well done, both of you,” she says without preamble. “Your idea of using only non-sentient-plant-based ingredients is a very original one, and I think, also very timely bearing in mind the current debates in the non-magical world on the ethics of using animal products.” Claire blinks in surprise; she hadn’t realised the Professor would be so well-informed. “I can’t make any promises regarding the efficacy of your recipe, but I am satisfied it will be safe to attempt. I do have one question though, the... _ chia _seeds?”

“Chia seeds, Professor,” Ally replies – and Claire just about expires on the spot as she realises Ally is _ correcting Professor Patel’s pronunciation. _“They’re used a lot in vegan cooking, as a binding agent. They get all goopy when soaked. Kind of like frogspawn. I have some, if you’re worried about getting hold of them?”

“I’ll look into it. Professor Longbottom told me you should be able to harvest your fire seeds in around ten days’ time, which would mean brewing in a fortnight, so I should have enough time to source them. But I’ll let you know if not.” The Professor hands Claire back the parchment, complete with a few new comments in red ink. “Your recipe is approved as written. Thank you, ladies.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Claire replies, trying to suppress a grin as they walk back to their seats.

After that, their good fortune continues. Together they brew a perfect Strong _ Exstimulo _Potion, and when Professor Patel inspects their cauldron, she actually says, “Impressive.”

Claire’s only had three _ impressives _in two years, and by the end of the lesson she feels rather like she’s walking on air.

“You’re in a good mood all of a sudden,” Ally comments as they follow their classmates out of the room and along the dungeon corridor. “I’ve never seen anyone so pleased to be told they brewed a good potion.” She drops into a whisper. “Do you have a thing for the Professor or something?”

_ Oh no, _ Claire thinks in sudden dread as Ally’s words sink in, the part of her brain that normally can be relied on to manage crisis situations stuttering to a halt as all she can manage is to look sharply behind her, the tightness in her chest only easing slightly when she realises that at least nobody _ else _ heard.

“No shit!” For a second Ally looks like she’s on the verge of laughter – but her expression transforms as soon as she looks at Claire. “Okay. It’s _ fine, _ but let’s go to my dorm because I don’t think we want to have this conversation here.”

“We’ll be late for lunch,” Claire protests weakly, as Ally grabs her arm and drags her down a different corridor entirely

“Fuck lunch. Come on,” Ally insists, and this time Claire doesn’t argue.

Unlike Gryffindor Tower, the Hufflepuff dormitories aren’t up stairs. They’re through a series of round doors off the common room, just high enough that Claire and Ally don’t have to stoop. 

Ally’s dorm room is circular like Claire’s, with half-moon windows just under the ceiling that match the ones in the common room. Claire knows immediately which bed is hers, without having to be told: while they all have black bedsheets with yellow trim and matching drapes, there’s only one with vines snaking up the columns and across the canopy, plants both familiar and unfamiliar covering every available surface and quite a bit of the floor. Claire spots the Fanged Geranium on top of a chest of drawers, fortunately not within biting distance.

Ally leads her over to the bed. “Sit down,” she orders, pulling the half-finished packet of Every-Flavour Beans out of her school bag and tipping half a dozen into Claire’s hand. “Eat these.” She puts her bag down and picks up one of the plants; Claire realises it’s one of the same furry-leaved plants that she saw in the common room. She hesitates when Ally holds it out. “And stroke this.”

Claire tips all the beans into her mouth before taking the plant pot, balancing it in her lap and tentatively stroking one of the leaves. The fur is as thick and soft as a rabbit’s, and the wide, flat leaf arches beneath her touch.

She grimaces as the combined flavour of the beans hits; she should really know better. “I’m definitely getting mint, coke, a couple of vegetables and I think – blue cheese?”

Ally sighs. “Honeydukes are fucking useless. This is supposed to be their vegan selection.” She flops down beside Claire on the mattress. “Right. Sexuality crisis pep talk, go.”

Before she can talk herself out of it, Claire blurts out: “I’m gay.”

She feels the shape of the words in her mouth, hears herself saying them, like she’s observing herself from inside her own head. 

It’s done, and she can’t take it back.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting Ally to say; after all, she doesn’t exactly have any experience of how this goes.

She’s expecting surprise, maybe, or something equally serious; a _ big deal _ kind of a reaction. She certainly isn’t expecting Ally to just nod, as unconcerned as if she’d told her what was for lunch, and ask, “Okay. Like, a bit gay, or like, _ super _gay?”

“Erm... ‘super gay’, I suppose? I mean, lesbian. I think. I don’t like boys. At all.”

“Okay. You know that’s okay, right?” 

When she finally dares to meet Ally’s eyes they’re wide, worried, even – and Claire immediately looks back down at the plant, wondering if Ally’s just as out of her depth here as Claire is herself. “I mean, I know wizard families are super weird about this stuff. And you don’t _ seem _okay.”

Claire takes a moment to think about it, and realises pretty quickly she doesn’t _ want _to actually think about it at all. After all, she’s spent the past year trying not to think about it for a reason.

“I don’t know,” she manages, wondering a little hysterically what exactly Ally’s parameters for ‘okay’ are in this situation. “Are they weirder than Muggle families?”

“_Oh _ yeah, they really are.” Ally helps herself to a couple of beans. “Hmm... blackcurrant and celery. Could be worse. This is another thing that pisses me off, by the way. Like, okay, Muggles are a mixed bag. Some of them are religious and think being LGBT is wrong. Some just think it’s gross or unnatural or whatever. But a lot of them are super fine with it. My mum cried a bit, but she does that a lot. She just wants me to be happy. Whereas wizards _ claim _ they’re fine with it and everyone is equal and then use that as an excuse never to talk about it or acknowledge that some people _ are _different and their difference should be celebrated, and just let them suffer in silence as a result. Hypocritical bullshit, as usual.” 

Claire realises she’s staring. She thinks she’s missed some of what Ally was saying, but her mind has fixed on one point and one point only. “Are you...?”

“Bi. Or pan, I haven’t decided yet. And Justin’s gay and non-binary, by the way, and Molly’s ace. They already said they didn’t mind me telling you. Tom’s our token straight friend.” She can still feel Ally’s gaze on her like a weight, as she brushes the leaf’s fur against the grain and watches it shudder. “Have you ever told anyone before? Or met another queer person?”

“No and no,” Claire admits. “My family are – like you said. They have expectations. Marriage, children. Nobody says _ blood purity _ any more, they say _ good family, _ but it comes down to the same thing. And my friends... they’re not bad people, but they’re products of their environment. If I were straight, I’d probably have been exactly the same.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” Ally says bluntly. “And for the record? If they ever try and disown you or anything stupid like that, my mum will adopt you.”

Claire opens her mouth to say _ thank you, _ and a sob comes out instead.

“Okay. Okay.” Ally puts an arm round her shoulders and pulls her close, as Claire leans gratefully in and tries not to cry too loudly. “I’m going to ping Naomi and ask her to smuggle us out some food. You can’t go to lunch like this. Would you like me to turn into a badger for a bit? Then you can cuddle me. It’s what I normally do when my friends are upset.”

As soon as Ally mentions her Animagus form, Claire remembers that she still hasn't got an answer on how a fifth year student managed to get hold of such undoubtedly heavily-restricted magic in the first place.

"Yeah, I'd like that. But first – where on earth did you learn it?"

"Josh Wilhelm." At Claire's blank look, Ally adds, "I was in fourth year, he was in sixth. I was sneaking out after lights out and caught him transforming in the common room. The price of my silence was him teaching me how to do it too." Ally grins proudly. "It’s the hardest thing I've ever done. And the most worth it."

"How did you do it?"

"I had to harvest a leaf from one of Professor L.'s mandrakes and keep it in my mouth for an entire _ month. _ Full moon to full moon. Without anyone noticing." Ally pulls a face. "_And _ I had to do it twice. The first time I got norovirus after three weeks and threw it up. I've never been so pissed off." 

Claire grimaces. "That's awful."

"Yep. And then you have to make a potion with it. Which you can't afford to fuck up, or you have to start again from the beginning. And all of it without getting caught. Fortunately Professor Everlight was a lot less on it than Patel is, cause I can't imagine getting anything past her. Josh helped with the potion as well, it's too difficult to do alone. We became quite good friends in the end. Still ping occasionally. It’s part of the reason I got so good at not being noticed."

“Wow.” If Claire's honest, it all sounds like far too much effort to her. “You must have really wanted it badly.”

Ally smiles. It’s a little ironic, but there’s some genuine softness there too. “I’d heard about it before and thought it was cool, but the moment I realised it was something I could actually _ do? _ It was like falling in love. Josh told me he’d had dozens of people who said they wanted to but backed out as soon as they found out what it took. I was the only one who followed through.”

“Would you teach someone else?”

“Oh, for sure. Josh gave me a list of our Animagi ‘line’. It goes back to Sirius Black. I’d be more than a bit of a letdown if it ended with me.” Ally grins. “Alright. Cuddle time.” 

In a shower of golden sparks, Ally’s human form transforms into an Ally-sized badger, sitting up beside Claire with her hind legs dangling off the side of the bed in such a decidedly un-badger-like fashion that Claire giggles through her tears.

Ally-the-badger makes a whuffling sound in reply, climbing into Claire’s lap and using her full weight to push her onto her back on the mattress.

Ally was right: it makes her feel a _ lot _ better. Ally-the-badger’s fur is thick and soft, and she makes a low, rumbling sound not unlike a cat’s purr when Claire runs her fingers through it – which even mostly balances out of the awkwardness of properly meeting Naomi for the first time with a tear-stained face and a mutual friend nuzzling her neck.

Ally changes back as soon as she smells food, and they’re both tucking into a surprisingly tasty chickpea and sweet potato salad with peppery rocket lettuce and sharp bursts of chilli and lemon when Claire gets a ping from Olivia. 

_ Hey, are you okay? You disappeared after Potions and now you’re not here _

_ I’m not feeling well, _ Claire pings back. She supposes it’s not too far from the truth. _ I just needed a lie down. I’ll see you guys at dinner. _

“It’s just Olivia,” she says in response to Ally’s raised eyebrow. “She’s wondering where I am.”

“Okay,” Ally replies, and for a moment Claire gets the impression she’s going to say something else; but she must have been mistaken, because the moment passes and Ally says instead, “Now, I want you to repeat after me. ‘My name is Claire Sittish, and I’m super gay.’”

Claire almost laughs. She almost refuses. 

But Ally’s done so much for her. Comforted her, _ accepted _her, and she may take the piss sometimes but by now Claire knows her well enough to know there’s no meanness behind it.

“Okay. My name is Claire Sittish –” she hesitates – “and I’m super gay.”

“Really, cause I’m not convinced.” Ally winks. “Come on. ‘My name is Claire Sittish, and I’m _ super _ gay.’”

Ally makes her repeat it over and over, in a variety of different voices, until Claire is laughing out loud.

Once she’s splashed some water on her face they walk to Herbology together, where Professor Longbottom gives them the famously tricky task of extracting venom from a Venomous Tentacula – and though it’s far too dangerous for Claire to be able to afford distractions, there are still a few moments where she looks at Ally beside her and thinks, _ she likes girls. _

_ She likes girls, and she might like me. _

She simultaneously wants to run far, far away and headlong towards the idea, and the combination is giving her mental whiplash.

After dinner she skips the library entirely and goes straight up to her dorm, where she starts to work on a list of possible Non-Magical Culture Club discussion topics to present to Headmistress McGonagall, pinging back and forth with Ally to figure out an order of most to least controversial, with her Charms textbook open beside her to give the appearance of actually doing schoolwork. Olivia is lying on her own bed, reading in companionable silence; Izzy and Shani are probably in the library, though to be honest Claire wasn’t listening to most of what they said earlier.

“How are you feeling?” Olivia asks suddenly – and Claire comes up blank for a moment before remembering that she said she wasn’t well earlier. 

“A lot better now, thanks. I think I inhaled something in Portions this morning that made me nauseous,” she lies breezily – too breezily, she realises, Olivia was in Potions as well, and the look she’s giving her isn’t entirely convinced.

“You know you can talk to us, right? If something’s wrong?”

After five years of friendship, Claire is well-acquainted with all their faults: Shani’s too quick to judge; Izzy is passive-aggressive and thrives on drama; Olivia always takes the path of least resistance. Claire herself is a goody-two-shoes who follows rules just because they’re rules and likes to think it makes her better than everyone else.

But they’re all Gryffindors for a reason.

They’re all big-hearted and generous, determined to protect and to fight for those who are dear to them, even if that sometimes means having difficult conversations.

Claire sighs, and puts her quill down as she tries to figure out what to say. 

It’s too soon to tell Olivia everything – but she doesn’t deserve to be lied to either.

“How did you know Jack was ‘the one’?”

Olivia puts down her book.

“I didn’t at first. I just thought he was cute. Cheerful. I liked his wonky smile. And I could tell he was interested in me, that helped.” She smiles fondly, as she does whenever Jack is mentioned. “We started dating, and it was fun, so we kept dating. And eventually I realised I was in love with him.” She pauses, and Claire recognises the clumsy, well-meaning expression on her face. “It’s okay to be a late bloomer. I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually. I mean, not all wizards go to Hogwarts.”

This isn’t the first time she’s had this conversation with one of her friends, and by now Claire already knows just how to phrase things so she doesn’t tell any lies, without revealing anything of the actual problem.

“I just don’t think I’ll find anyone my family will ever approve of,” she says with a sigh, conscious of every word that comes out of her mouth. “You know my parents still make me go to every party. They were already dating at our age. As my mother never fails to remind me.” Her grimace is wholly genuine. “I think disappointing them is inevitable at this point.”

“Then they need to get their heads out of their arses,” Olivia says firmly. “A lot of things have changed since they were our age.” Her expression softens. “It’s okay to follow your heart. All those boys you’re refusing to consider because they’re not good enough for your parents? One of them might be the right one for you.”

Claire forces a smile. “Thanks, Livi. I’ll think about it.”

Olivia means well, of course. It’s Claire’s own fault really, for allowing her to keep on drawing the wrong conclusions.

Claire wakes up the next morning to a waiting ping from Ally:

_ For your next lesson I want you to break a school rule of your choice. You have seven days. _

Once Claire’s set her parameters – not dangerous, won’t get her in serious trouble, fun for Ally – the idea comes to her surprisingly quickly.

_ Ever been in the Prefects’ bathroom? _

Ally pings back almost immediately: _ I hope your next words are going to be ‘after curfew’... _

The sheer stress of sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower at midnight probably takes a year off Claire’s life, but she immediately decides it’s worth it when she opens the door to the Prefects’ bathroom and lets Ally inside, and gets to watch the childlike joy in her face as she takes in the sight of the giant bath, the opulent decor, even getting a wink from the mermaid in the stained glass window. She spends several minutes just playing with all the taps, eventually deciding on a greenish foam that smells like a pine forest after rain.

If Claire had thought further ahead, she would have realised that inviting the object of her affections to get naked with her was perhaps _ not _her best plan – but by the time the reality of the situation hits it’s already too late, Ally is stripping off her pyjamas and Claire hurriedly turns her back, hoping she doesn’t start blushing, and that Ally won’t think she’s a complete prude.

There are a few awkward minutes where Claire has to make sure she isn’t looking anywhere she’s not supposed to, but once they’re both safely beneath the thick layer of bubbles, the wonderfully warm water draws all the tension back out of her body. “Was this naughty enough for you?” she asks, finally looking over.

Ally hums consideringly. “It’s a good start, but I think I can still corrupt you a bit further. When I was a kid, I used to read these books about these posh girls who went to boarding school in like, the nineteen twenties or something. It was basically Hogwarts without the magic. Towards the end of term they’d always sneak out of bed and have a midnight feast.” She raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Alright,” Claire agrees, before she can think better of it. “We could ask Beetle to help us with the food. I want to try some more of your vegan meals.”

“Awesome. You know, I never would have thought you’d be such good fun.” Her voice drops low, taking on a familiar teasing tone. “A Prefect of Gryffindor House, sneaking around after lights out, getting up to who knows what.”

Ally may be teasing, but her dark eyes are locked on Claire’s and there’s a new tension building in the air, that’s making Claire’s mouth dry and her breath shallow. She knows the way Ally smiles when she’s taking the piss, but the curl of her lips is newly intimate, holds new _ intent, _and for the first time Claire realises there’s a pale dusting of freckles across the apples of her cheeks.

“What are you intending now that you’ve got me naked?”

The bottom abruptly drops out of Claire’s stomach.

“What? Nothing, I swear,” she babbles, starting to imagine their entire friendship collapsing right before her eyes. “I mean – I’m sorry. I really didn’t think this through. I just thought you’d like the bath. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ally laughs, cutting through Claire’s mounting panic. “Claire, it’s fine. Really. I was just messing with you. I do like the bath. And I believe you. Mainly because you don’t seem the type, but you’re also a shit liar.” 

“Well excuse _ you,” _Claire replies, a little huffily. “I happen to think I do a very good impression of a straight girl.”

“Only because that’s what everyone expects of you anyway. If someone actually questions you, you crumple like wet tissue paper,” Ally points out. “I know, I was there.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Claire grumbles. “It’s only my delusions that have got me this far in the first place.”

“Hey. I never said you didn’t use those expectations to their full advantage.” Ally considers for a moment. “So are you gonna just keep on doing that straight girl impression, then?”

“I guess?” Claire shrugs. “I don’t want to tell my parents until after I’ve moved out. I know that much. So I can’t be out at school either, it would get back to them somehow. But I’m glad you know. And I wouldn’t mind if Justin and Tom and Molly knew either.”

“What about your friends?”

Claire hesitates. 

She knows, intellectually, that it won’t be _ that _ bad. They might find it weird, that it’s her, but she’s pretty sure they won’t think it’s disgusting or wrong; they’ll understand it’s not something she has any control over. 

But the idea of telling them still makes her heart beat faster and ties her stomach in knots, and if she thought she could avoid it forever then she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t have.

Before she can come up with an appropriate response, Ally presses: “Do you even like them?”

“Yes?” Claire tries, and when it comes out as more of a question than a statement, “It’s not that simple.”

Ally rolls her eyes. “If you don’t actually like them, just stop hanging out with them,” she says dismissively – and Claire’s surprised by how quickly she sees red.

“What would you know about it?” she snaps, and she isn’t above feeling a moment of petty satisfaction at Ally’s resulting shock. 

It’s so easy for someone else to say. Someone who isn’t Claire, and hasn’t lived her life.

“Explain to me then,” Ally insists. “Cause I don’t get it.”

At least half of Claire wants to equivocate, to try and smooth things over; but really she knows that’s not fair to anyone.

She doesn’t _ owe _ her friends, she wouldn’t go that far, but she does feel some level of responsibility towards all they’ve shared.

“They’ve been my best friends for five years,” she says in the end. “I can’t just throw that away. I _ won’t. _Even if I’ve changed and they haven’t.”

Ally shrugs. “In my world, if your people can’t deal with the person you are, you go out and find new ones.”

_ But what if you can’t? _

“In my world, you don’t drop your people for not being perfect, because they’re your people.” 

Ally shrugs. “Gryffindors,” she says, as if that’s an explanation, and follows it up with a massive yawn. “Come on. Before I fall asleep in here.”

It’s a needed reality check, Claire decides once she’s alone in bed, struggling not to overthink their conversation. Ally may be new and exciting, but really? Sometimes she understands Claire’s point of view as little as Claire apparently does hers.

It takes her a long time to fall asleep, even though she’s tired, and she wakes the next morning to a series of pings, sent even later into the night:

_ What are you most scared of? _

_ For me it’s losing my mum. Especially if she got ill and it was something they could just heal like that if she was a wizard. _

_ I fucking hate this sometimes, do they realise how many people are dying because they don’t care? _

Claire fumbles groggily for her Non-Magical Culture Club notes and adds ‘ethics of withholding Healing from non-magical people’.

She pings back: _ It’s going on the list. And if your mum got ill I would help you smuggle her into St Mungo’s and refuse to leave until they helped her. _

_ My greatest fear is disappointing everyone. _

Ally doesn’t reply until mid-morning, by which time Claire is in the library, making half-hearted efforts to concentrate on her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay on common methods of resistance to the Unforgivable Curses, when she isn’t staring out of the window at the gently rippling waters of the loch below.

_ Is it okay if I tell my mum you’re super gay? I want her to be prepared to adopt you just in case. _

Even alone in her cubicle, certain no-one else can see or hear her messages, her face still flushes and her heart pounds. 

She takes a deep breath and tells herself firmly to get it together before replying.

_ Yeah that’s fine. Say hi from me. And I look forward to hopefully meeting her when I get my Apparition licence. _

_ Definitely. She wants to meet all my friends. _

After that, Claire’s in a good mood that lasts the rest of the morning and into lunch, where talking to Shani and Olivia about their Defence Against the Dark Arts essays, she realises that for the first time in weeks she’s actually interested in the conversation, and isn’t just letting it happen around her or forcing herself to participate for the sake of appearances. 

It’s a bittersweet realisation that she could have all this again, if only she could bring herself to be real with them.

* * *

Five days later, Professor Longbottom approves their fire seeds for harvesting.

“Use Extinguishing Spells to put out the fires,” he instructs. “Then one of you will use a Freezing Charm on the bush while the other removes the seeds with secateurs. The seeds must be put into the inert boxes before the charm wears off, or they will burst into flame again. You’ll have about thirty seconds’ grace once each seed is detached from the bush, so you’ll need to work fast...”

It’s only when Claire turns to Ally that she realises how still she is, staring glassy-eyed and silent at their bush. It’s the size of a small pumpkin now, burning steadily with a deep crimson flame, and if Claire squints she can see small almond-shaped seeds nestled in the centre of a dozen blood-red flowers.

“I know we need to get good marks for this,” Ally murmurs, not looking away. “But I don’t think I can bear to do it.”

In that moment, Claire feels two things instinctually: if she tells Ally to cast the charm then she will; and that to kill the bush would be to kill a little bit of their friendship with it.

The Claire of a month ago would never have dreamed of jeopardising her grades like this – but Claire isn’t that person any more.

“Talk to Professor L.,” she decides, reaching out and squeezing Ally’s arm. “Tell him we want to harvest the seeds alive. There’s got to be a way.”

“Okay,” Ally agrees, new hope in her eyes. “Be right back.”

She talks to Professor Longbottom for a full five minutes, and Claire waits, focusing on ignoring the few curious looks that are thrown her way. When Ally eventually does come back it’s with two pairs of goggles and dragonhide gloves, and a grin almost as wide as her face.

“Professor L. says we can try a Knockback Jinx to loosen the seeds from the flowers,” she says without preamble. “But it’ll be difficult. And we’ll have to do everything outside so that we don’t hit any of the others.”

“It’s a simple jinx,” Claire says, thinking aloud. “But we’ll have to hit the seeds with _ exactly _the right amount of force to detach them without destroying them. Or worse, hitting the entire bush. And then we’ll have to hit each one with the Freezing Charm immediately. Probably in mid-air.”

“That’s what Professor L. said.” Ally is already picking up their bush, and even held at arm’s length, Claire can feel the heat radiating from it. “It’s going to be hard. But I want to try. He said he’ll mark us on the number of successfully harvested seeds however we do it, and if the bush survives we can plant it here.”

“Then let’s do it,” Claire agrees. It will require exceptional wand work from both of them, but if she’s going to be an Auror then she needs to be exceptional.

They’re in the middle of a cold snap, and even with their cloaks wrapped tightly round them, the wind outside is biting and the flames flicker almost to nothingness; though they rally as Ally sets the pot down carefully on one of the greenhouse stools and they both take a couple of steps back, the bush’s crimson light the only splash of colour in the grey afternoon.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Ally confesses. Claire barely hears her over the noise of the wind. “My wand work isn’t as good as yours.”

Claire’s never heard her sound so unsure, and she never wants to again.

“Yes you can.” She turns to Ally, putting her hands on her shoulders, not caring if anyone’s watching. “I know you can, because you _ want _it. And if we don’t succeed at first, we’ll try until we get it right. We only need three seeds for the potion. And then we’ll plant it here, and we’ll sneak out and have a midnight feast beside it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Repeat after me. ‘My name’s Ally Reinhold, and I’m going to harvest these fire seeds.’”

“My name’s Ally Reinhold, and I’m going to harvest these fire seeds,” Ally repeats, with a little of her usual conviction.

“Right then. Do you want to do the Knockback Jinx or the Freezing Charm?”

“Knockback Jinx. I think it’ll be easier.”

“Okay. Let’s give it a go. Count of three?”

Ally takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“One – two – three!”

“_Flipendo!_”

Blue sparks shoot out from Ally’s wand and hit the bush – and the second she sees something dislodge Claire immediately hits it with Freezing then Levitation Charms, only to find a few moments later when she reels it in that it’s just a clump of leaves, little more than a blush colour with no flame coming from them any more, and no flowers at all.

“It’s okay,” she says, cradling the leaves in her gloved hand for a moment before letting them fall to the floor. “Let’s try again.”

Ally’s second attempt knocks the whole bush clean off the stool.

Claire rushes straight over, heart in her mouth – but even though the pot’s cracked and some of the leaves are damaged the little bush is still flaming merrily, and she quickly picks it up and sets it back on the stool, more than a little relieved. 

A few metres away, Ally is standing stock-still, wand held loosely at her side.

“It’s no good,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t do it.”

Claire opens her mouth to say something reassuring – and hears her mother’s voice coming out of it instead.

“That’s just not acceptable.” She just manages to stop herself from adding, _ young lady. _“This is our bush and giving up is not an option.” 

She half-expects Ally to argue, but instead she’s looking at Claire like she’s never seen her before – which Claire supposes probably isn’t unreasonable.

Despite all the ways in which she’s changed, she’s still a Sittish. 

“Take those gloves off. They’re limiting your wand control.” She holds her hand out as Ally passes them over, immediately wincing and rubbing her hands together until Claire taps them with her own wand, casting a warming spell that should give a few minutes of relief. “You had two misses, that does not make you incapable. Now, we’re going to do this again, and we’re going to keep doing it until we get it right. Agreed?”

“Yeah. Okay. Agreed.” 

Ally is gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles are turning white; Claire taps them with her own wand until she loosens up.

“Take a step forward. It’s counter-intuitive, but if you’re too far away then you’ll unconsciously put more force into the spell to make sure it reaches.” Ally does, going automatically into a duelling stance. “Remember, we may call this the Knockback Jinx, but you’re not trying to push the seed backwards. You’re pushing it down in order to pop it from the receptacle. The key is visualisation.”

“Visualisation. Got it.” Ally repeats, with growing determination, and Claire decides she’s as ready as she’s going to be. “Come on, then. Let’s kick its arse.”

Ally’s third _ Flipendo _ is too weak, but she grits her teeth and immediately readies herself to try again; the fourth detaches a whole flower, but Claire hits it with _ Glacius _ immediately, and though the cold makes her fingertips burn as she deftly pops the seed from its receptacle, drops it into the box and closes the lid, they’ve _ done it. _

“That was brilliant!” Claire exclaims. “It’s easier for me to freeze a whole flower, and I can pop the seed out with my hands. We just need another two like that.”

“Okay.” Ally grins, looking more like her usual self. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Claire confirms, and Ally raises her wand.

They’ve harvested five seeds, and only destroyed about a quarter of the bush, when Claire decides, “Okay. That’s enough.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe we did it!” Ally squeals, expression alive with joy – and she looks so beautiful that Claire sweeps her up in a crushing hug without a second thought, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, Ally making a cut-off noise of surprise as her arms tighten around – 

“Miss Reinhold, Miss Sittish! Why aren’t you wearing your gloves?!”

Claire drops her hold on Ally like she’s been burned.

She picks up the two pairs of gloves she’d dropped carelessly on the ground ten minutes earlier, as Professor Longbottom stands beside the bush, arms folded.

“It was my fault, Professor,” she says immediately. “I told Ally to take them off. They were interfering with our wand control.”

“Show me your hands, please.”

The Professor tuts when Claire holds out her hands, realising too late that her fingers have turned an ugly shade of purple. He casts the same charm on her that she used on Ally but neglected on herself for fear of it nullifying the Freezing Charms on the seeds before she could get them into the inert box, and she winces as warmth rushes back into her fingers. “I’m afraid this will sting for a few minutes, Miss Sittish. And I’m docking five points from each of your houses as well as detention tomorrow evening for such a blatant violation of safety protocol.”

Claire winces. Professor Longbottom may have a reputation as a soft touch, but she decides that only makes disappointing him even worse.

“Report here tomorrow after dinner. I will need help planting a fire seed bush, which will help you refresh your memories on their safe handling. Now. Put those gloves back _ on, _ please, and bring everything inside.”

“Ouch,” Ally says succinctly, once the Professor is out of earshot.

“I never thought I’d say this about getting detention – but it was worth it,” Claire replies, and that makes Ally laugh out loud.

Claire doesn’t even revise her opinion when she has to endure a telling-off from Professor McCallan, even though it does make her want to sink through the floor; she’d endure ten detentions to put that smile on Ally’s face again.

The detention itself is more lesson than punishment: Professor L. asks their opinions on handling technique and the merits of Shield Charms versus Fire Protection Potions, and when he lets Ally assist him with the actual planting, Claire wonders if he would have asked her in any case.

Ally’s face gets close enough to the flames at one point that Claire thinks she would have singed some of her fringe off without the Professor’s insistence on Shield Charms, but together they plant the bush successfully in a corner of one of the fenced-off Herbology plots, where it illuminates some nearby silverweed bushes. 

Finally Ally gets to her feet and steps back, dusting the excess soil off her gloves. For a few moments they just stand and watch it burn, and Claire reaches out and squeezes Ally’s arm through her cloak, thinking, _ we made it. _

“I’m going to start the evening rounds,” Professor Longbottom says; Claire had almost forgotten he was there. “Please tidy up here and, then come and assist me.”

“Yes, Professor,” Claire agrees, and strips off her gloves. 

She goes to start collecting the garden tools when a hand on her arm stops her.

“I want to say thank you.” Ally sounds uncharacteristically tense, and the light from Claire’s wand shows up a high flush in her cheeks. “For doing all this for me. For coming up with a vegan potion recipe and starting a school club and getting detention for me.”

“Of course. You’re my friend,” Claire points out. “I should be thanking _ you, _for giving me another chance after I was such a bitch to you last term.”

“Oh my God. Gryffindors.” Ally looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Will you just take a compliment already?”

“Only if you do,” Claire insists, though her smile gives her away.

“You’ll have to give me one first.”

“You’re amazing.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she thinks with a lurch like missing a step, _ too far – _ but she can’t take them back, Ally’s dark eyes are wide with realisation and for a moment Claire’s frozen, aware that she’s just changed things irreparably but not sure what on earth to say next.

“Real talk?” Ally asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Real talk,” Claire admits, and holds her breath as she waits for Ally to laugh, or scoff, or tell her with painful kindness that she’s very flattered, but could never – 

Instead Ally steps forward and puts her hands on Claire’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” she confesses, and Claire has opened her mouth to ask what exactly she means when Ally rocks up onto her toes and kisses her.


	3. The Flame

Ally’s kissing her – and it takes Claire’s mind a moment to catch up with reality but when it does something ignites in her chest, searing bright, and she puts her hands on Ally’s waist and kisses her back.

Ally pulls away a long moment later with an uncertain smile, looking searchingly at Claire, waiting for her to react. 

Claire says honestly, “I don’t think you could fuck this up if you tried.”

With tentative fingers, she reaches up and pushes Ally’s fringe out of her eyes – 

A loud crash from one of the greenhouses makes them jump guiltily apart.

“We should clear this up,” Claire hears herself say, gesturing at the tools still strewn around their feet. 

“Yeah,” Ally agrees after a beat, a new expression on her face that Claire doesn’t know how to interpret.

They gather up all the things and put them away, then join the Professor for the rest of his rounds. He and Ally are talking the whole time about the care of all the different plants, but Claire doesn’t hear a word of it. 

_ Ally kissed me, _ is all she can think. _ She kissed me, I don’t know what to do, _ and, _ I want it to happen again. _

Professor Longbottom finally dismisses them half an hour before curfew. They walk back the long way round, as always, but Ally still isn’t saying anything, and Claire can feel herself winding tighter and tighter with every step.

She never let herself imagine this actually happening, and she was trying to follow Ally’s lead but Ally’s giving her absolutely _ nothing _ to go on – 

_ Should I kiss her again? Ask her on a date? _

_ Why is this so difficult? _

“_Ally,_” she says, a little desperately, and stops.

For a moment she still searches Ally’s face for clues as she turns to her, but she’s silhouetted against the light of the castle and Claire can’t read her expression.

So she gathers up all her Gryffindor courage and asks, “Can I kiss you again?”

This time she hears the smile in Ally’s voice when she replies, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Now Ally takes the lead, walking Claire backwards into the shadow of the North Tower, hands fisted in the fabric of her cloak. Time seems to slow with her soft, deliberate kisses, the opening of her mouth, the slip of her tongue. She smells of soil and something fresh, and Claire’s cold fingers stutter against her jaw until Ally takes her hands and draws them inside her cloak to rest warm at her waist.

Eventually she pulls her in close, Ally resting her head against Claire’s shoulder as Claire’s arms wrap around her small frame beneath her cloak, and she thinks of being stunned, of the sudden warmth of healing. 

She presses her cold nose against Ally’s hair and says, “I want to take you on a date.”

“‘Kay. But I only accept dates that involve rule-breaking. No Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Claire grimaces. They would stick out like a sore thumb at Madam Puddifoot’s, for multiple reasons. “Deal. I think that would be a bit – public for me anyway.”

“I know.” Ally’s cold fingers brush along the skin of Claire’s neck just above her shirt collar, making her shiver. “No rush. And not to break the mood or anything, but we should get back. I’m freezing my tits off out here.”

Claire giggles. “Wouldn’t want that.”

She takes Ally’s hand, and doesn’t let go until they reach the castle. 

Claire normally has no trouble falling asleep quickly and waking up early, but that night, she lies awake for a long time.

Ally _ likes _ her. Ally _ kissed _her, and agreed to go on a date with her, and Claire knows she needs a good seven hours’ sleep because they’re brewing their all-important fire seed potion tomorrow, but all she really wants to do is stay up until she’s figured out a possible location for their midnight picnic.

One of her friends turns over in bed, letting out a soft snore, and Claire’s heart clenches at the reminder that this _ amazing _thing is happening to her, and she can’t tell them about it.

Well. Can’t, or _ won’t? _

She knows Ally doesn’t get it, but even though she doesn’t know what to say to her friends more often than not, she’d still drop everything for them if they needed her. They’re the best friends she’s ever had, and even though she’s scared, she knows at heart what she needs to do if she wants them to be anything like as close again as they once were. Even if it means accepting once and for all how differently she’s turned out.

They can never be who they were, she knows that, but that doesn’t make things unsalvageable.

She sleeps far too little, and come morning feels even more groggy than her friends look. She can’t quite stomach breakfast, only managing a solitary slice of buttered toast and a cup of coffee, but still manages to make it to the Potions classroom even earlier than Profesor Patel does.

She’s kind of glad she has so many other things to worry about, otherwise she thinks she’d be having a complete freak out over the fact that they’re about to brew a wholly experimental potion and there’s a reasonable chance of it failing entirely, and ruining her overall grade in the process. Still, she’s half-convinced herself Ally isn’t going to show up at all when she finally slips into the classroom barely a minute before the bell, so unobtrusively that Claire is beginning to understand how she managed not to notice her at all for so many years. 

She just has time to murmur, “Hey,” before Professor Patel gets up from behind her desk and announces that it’s time to start.

“Okay,” Claire says, psyching herself up as she puts their recipe parchment out on the desk in front of them, and concentrates on not panicking. “Ingredients, in order: ten grams of dittany; ten grams of star grass; seven drops of oil of comfrey in one tablespoon of standard carrier oil; five grams of wormwood; three fire seeds; twenty-five millilitres of plangentine, and fifteen grams of powdered chia seeds...?”

“Got them,” Ally confirms, and gives her a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Okay. So. Chop the dittany and star grass finely. Cut the wormwood into thin strips. Pour the comfrey-infused oil into a heated cauldron until it begins to smoke. Add the wormwood strips and wait until their smoke turns red. Drop in the fire seeds, and the instant they ignite, add the dittany and star grass directly into the flame. Turn the heat down to low and slowly pour in the plangentine while stirring nine times widdershins. Then add the powdered chia seeds, stir swiftly deasil for thirty seconds, take off the heat and let sit for ten minutes to combine, before straining and pouring into a vial.”

Ally frowns. “What’s deasil again?”

“Clockwise.” 

Their instructions are solid, Claire reminds herself. Professor Patel wouldn’t let them set themselves up for failure. 

“Do you think it will change colour after adding the plangentine?”

“I don’t know,” Claire admits. “I’d expect so, but I couldn’t tell you which colour. If it works at all, that is.”

Under the table, Ally’s hand finds her knee and squeezes it.

“That’s innovation for you,” she says, then a little more softly, “You can’t figure everything out in your head, you know. Sometimes you just have to try things, and see.”

Claire gives her a weak smile. “Let’s get started, then.”

She’s worked with Ally enough times now to know she’s bloody good at Potions. Not as precise as Claire in the brewing process itself, but that’s not the only skill that matters; Claire may be taking the lead here, but if it were just her, she wouldn’t have a recipe at all.

Ally chops. Claire smokes the wormwood. Ally drops in the fire seeds, and Claire scrapes the dittany and star grass from the chopping board into the flash fire that results, and watches them burn.

She stirs while Ally pours, her hand careful and steady, counting seven eight nine; and her breath stoppers in her throat as the resulting liquid turns a brilliant purple, shimmering like faerie fire.

Then she adds the powdered chia seeds and stirs, and the colour fades to a lilac so pale it’s almost white.

Ally leans over beside her, pressing their shoulders together as she stares into the cauldron.

“I think we did it,” she whispers.

Claire nods, hardly daring to breathe. “So do I.”

She quickly straightens up as Professor Patel walks over to them. “How did it go, ladies?”

She nods approvingly as Claire summarises their results. “I’ll run the full range of diagnostic tests, of course, and provide you with the results next week. But my initial impression is that it appears to be reactive.” She smiles, the particular smile that Claire covets like jewels. “Very well done, both of you. Depending on the exact profile, I think there will be possibilities for further study, if it’s something you would be interested in pursuing?”

“Yes! Absolutely, Professor.” Claire decides to ignore the question of how exactly she’s going to find time for further Potions study alongside her five other N.E.W.T.s and the school club she’s also starting. “Thank you.”

She turns back to Ally with stars in her eyes, only to find that she’s being smirked at.

“Ooh, Claire!” Ally nudges her in the ribs with a bony elbow. “Patel just offered you _ extra credit._”

“Shut up,” Claire replies, but she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

On Saturday they hold the first organisers’ meeting of the Non-Magical Culture Club, piled into a booth in the back corner of the Three Broomsticks. Claire buys the Butterbeers, and offers to take notes, because she thinks that’s what you’re supposed to do at meetings.

Once she judges that the extracurricular chatter has gone on long enough she taps her quill against the table a few times to get everyone’s attention, choosing to ignore the look Justin and Ally give each other.

“Okay. Let’s start. The purpose of this meeting is to agree on a formal proposal for the Non-Magical Culture Club, which we can present to Headmistress McGonagall for her approval. I’ll go through Ally and I’s notes, feel free to weigh in with any comments or additions.” 

She hopes she doesn’t sound too much like she’s been rehearsing this. 

“We will propose to hold meetings once a week during term time, between sixth period and dinner, in whichever classroom is allocated. Our intention is to hold positive and constructive discussions relating to non-magical life and culture, which fall outside the remit of the Non-Magical Studies curriculum.”

She’s particularly proud of that last sentence. She thinks it’s an acceptably diplomatic way of expressing the fact that they all think the current Non-Magical Studies curriculum is basically inadequate. 

She pauses meaningfully, but nobody says anything. Tom gives her a thumbs-up.

“We will not debate the legitimacy of mixed families, blood purity, or non-magical-born wizards. Anyone who attempts to do that during meetings will be asked to leave. Everyone with magic is welcome in wizarding society. We don’t tolerate intolerance.” That last phrase was Ally’s. Claire thinks she looks pleased to hear her use it. 

“Have I missed anything?” Everyone says_ no, _ or shakes their head. “Okay. So. Now to the list of example topics. Number one is mixed relationships, wizard and non-magical?”

Molly nods. “I’d suggest we try and get a guest speaker who can tell us about their experiences.”

“Good idea,” Claire says, though she doesn’t have any idea how they’d actually _ find _someone.

“Yes,” Tom adds. “Preferably someone from a wizarding family. Someone that the students we’re trying to reach can relate to.”

“Okay.” Claire puts a tick beside the item on her list, and adds, _ guest speaker? _“Number two is ‘bridging’ careers, anything where you’re working with both wizards and non-magical people. That could be anything from being the Ministry liaison to the non-magical Parliament, to being a software developer serving the magical community.”

When she looks meaningfully at Tom, he picks up: “Yeah, ideally we’d get a guest speaker for this too, but it’s probably too broad. I’m not sure the wizarding world even has professional careers advisers.” He raises his eyebrows at Claire, who shrugs.

“There are so many huge holes in wizarding service.” Ally leans in, elbows on the table. “What about therapists? Social workers?” 

Claire makes a mental note to look up what social workers are later on.

“How do wizard innovators work?” Tom asks. “Like the Wizarding Watch people. Do they have to set up businesses and pay taxes? Can they get loans from Gringotts?”

Molly nods. “This could be at least two different sessions, if not more. Both showcasing existing careers, and explaining how self-employment works.”

“Definitely.” Claire makes a few more notes in the margins. “Third idea: immigration. This is a hot-button issue in the non-magical world, right?” One look around the table is all the confirmation she needs. “But in the wizarding world all we’ve ever talked about is blood purity. So I think most wizard-borns are severely under-informed.”

“So what angle are you thinking?” Justin asks. “‘Here’s what’s going on that you knew nothing about’?”

“I think there’s two different angles, like with a lot of these topics. What’s happening in the non-magical world that people from wizarding families don’t know about, and what’s happening in the _ wizarding _ world that we don’t talk about. There’s been more immigration of wizarding families to Britain since the end of World War Two than ever before, and the prevailing social attitude is, ‘they’re just like us, so we don’t have to talk about it’, but is that how _ they _ actually feel?” 

She’s aware that what she’s saying is a bit woolly – she doesn’t know what the experiences that she doesn’t know about might be – but she thinks there are people who would be able to tell them. “We could ask Professor Patel if she’d be willing to talk to us about her family. But that should be part two, I think. Once we’ve figured out what it would look like.”

“Okay. So, immigration part one: non-magical immigration to the UK as a current social issue. Part two, potential follow-up on wizarding immigration to the UK since 1945,” Tom summarises, as Claire jots everything down. “Even if we just take the first one we still have three solid topics for the proposal.”

But Claire has a topic number four, and for a moment she hesitates: it’s controversial, the voice of her upbringing tells her, you’ve already got enough topics, you don’t need another.

But she’s talked to Ally about this, and if she wigs out of this and Ally calls her on it, then she doesn’t think she’d be able to defend herself. 

_ Gryffindors do the right thing, _she reminds herself, and taps her quill a few times against the parchment to psych herself up.

“I’ve got one more. It’s a bit controversial,” she prevaricates, and immediately regrets it as they all look at her – there’s no getting away from the fact that it might cause conflict just by being indirect. “The ethics of wizards withholding magical Healing from the non-magical population.”

“Of course it’s unethical,” Justin says immediately; Tom and Molly look like they’re still working through their initial surprise, whether it’s at the topic itself or the fact that it’s good-girl Claire who brought it up. “Next.”

“But we’ve still got to tell them as much,” Ally points out. “You know exactly how many Traditionals give a shit about Muggles. I bet hardly any of them have ever even _ thought _ about it.”

“And while I agree in principle, is it even practically feasible?” Molly asks. “There are ten thousand times as many Muggles as there are wizards. I don’t know if we could ever meet that demand for Healing, and we certainly don’t have that kind of capacity now.”

“But it wouldn’t be as simple as current capacity times a thousand if you could cure every Muggle medical condition instantly,” Ally argues.

“What about mental health?” Molly’s looking at Claire. “Do wizards even have mental services, cause I’ve never heard of one.”

Claire shrugs. She hates looking stupid. “St. Mungo’s has a long-term stay ward?”

Justin scoffs. “Okay, so that’s a no. Anyone here fancy being the first wizarding therapist?”

“It’s still an impossible undertaking without compromising the Statute of Secrecy,” Tom points out, and Claire finds herself nodding with a little relief, expecting that will be the end of it. 

Then Ally’s next words cut through her like a knife:

“So repeal it.”

_ She’s thought about this, _Claire realises.

“What?” she says faintly.

As she looks around the table she sees that Justin’s not surprised at all, and even Tom and Molly aren’t as surprised as she would expect. That just leaves her.

“You – you can’t _ say that!_” she hisses.

It’s entirely the wrong thing to say to Ally, of course, who Claire has never known to back down from a challenge.

“Just did,” she counters, jutting her chin out. “We have the right to free speech in this country, don’t we? Or is that only for Muggles?”

Claire knows, really, that her life is built on certain foundations of understanding about how the world works: she is privileged to be a wizard and a Sittish; she will marry into a good family and have an appropriate career; and the Statute of Secrecy is what keeps her life and her world viable.

She’s already had to demolish one pillar from her foundations, and she knows she’ll feel its effects all her life. She’s not sure if she can afford to lose another and expect anything to still be standing afterwards.

“But the Statute is what keeps us safe,” she argues, something like desperation in her voice. “Before it wizards were persecuted for hundreds of years!”

“So were queers,” Justin says flatly.

Before Claire can recover, Ally argues, “The Statute of Secrecy is barely even holding _ now. _” She jabs the table with her index finger. “Traditionals haven’t realised it yet, but the internet has blown it out of the water. Arthur Weasley has three million followers on Twitter, for fuck’s sake!”

Claire stares. “Surely that can’t be allowed?” Not even from Ron Weasley’s father.

Tom shrugs. “You could interpret it as an elaborate parody. But still.”

“Then it’s fine. Right? If there’s an explanation for it,” Claire insists – not that she really cares about Arthur Weasley’s social media, but unable to help herself – and Ally throws up her hands in frustration.

“Jesus Christ, Claire! This is what makes me so fucking crazy about you lot. You all stick your heads in the sand and refuse to realise the world has changed, and the rules need to change with it. We’re not in the Victorian era any more. Wake up.” She gets up, her chair scraping angrily across the tiled floor. “I need some air.”

Claire watches her go, crushed.

She realises Justin is still looking at her, and flushes hotly, wishing he would just give her a _ fucking break sometimes _ when he says, “Well, go on then.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Go after her.” He rolls his eyes. “Kiss and make up. Apologise for being an idiot.”

She flashes hot and cold – she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised that Ally’s told him, but to hear it spoken aloud is another thing, however sarcastic he’s being – but she doesn’t want to draw Molly and Tom’s attention even more so she just mutters, “Well, if you think it’ll help,” and leaves without waiting for a reply.

Ally is leaning against the outside wall, the lower half of her face buried in her scarf. Her arms are wrapped tightly across her body, and Claire itches to replace that inadequate-looking jacket with one that’s actually warm enough for a Scottish winter. She wonders if Ally would accept one as a Christmas present. 

She buries her hands deep in her pockets as Ally raises her head, cheeks flushed from the cold, and just looks at her.

“I’m sorry,” Claire blurts out, heart beating double-time against her ribs. “I don’t disagree. Not really. I’m just – scared. But I’m trying.” Ally still doesn’t reply, but her expression loses a little of its hard edges. “Be patient with me?”

She holds her breath as Ally looks off to one side, down the street that leads back towards Hogwarts, and lets out a long huff of breath, a white cloud of warmth in the frigid air. 

“I’m sorry too,” she says at last, looking back at Claire. “I’m not very good at being patient. But I’ll try as well.” 

Claire leans against the wall next to her, pressing their shoulders together.

“I feel like our way of life could collapse in on itself at any moment,” she confesses, wishing she was brave enough to put her arms around Ally and hold her tight, the way she really wants to. “And I don’t know what’s gonna happen when it does.”

“You mean _ your _ way of life,” Ally replies – and though her words are mostly free of judgement, Claire still feels it like a blow.

They agree not to include the last topic in their proposal to the Headmistress. Claire doesn’t know if her instincts are right or if it’s just her fear talking, but she finds allies in Tom and Molly, who agree that they should do what they need to to get their club approved first, and once that’s been achieved they can think about expanding their scope.

Things with Ally are left – unresolved. Claire doesn’t think she’s blown it, exactly; Ally did say she’d be patient with her, after all. It’s just that their easy friendship has been knocked off-balance, and she isn’t sure what she needs to do to right it again.

They’re still sitting together in lessons, but it’s like the weight of everything – the kisses, the argument – have piled up on Claire’s shoulders and are weighing her down. And there’s no-one she can ask for help; Justin is the only person who knows, and based on their interactions so far, Claire thinks she’s far more likely to earn his scorn than his sympathy.

It’s a bit dramatic, but she’s taken to wandering the halls when she’s not in class and can’t concentrate on her homework. Nobody bothers her if she looks purposeful enough, and it gives her time to think about the one idea she has to turn things around – the picnic – and how she can pull it off. She hasn’t learned any spells that would keep them warm outside for more than a couple of minutes, so it has to be somewhere inside the castle; she needs somewhere illicit but safe, shielded from the eyes of the ever-patrolling Filch. Somewhere – 

Her eye’s caught by a door just ahead on the right-hand wall, the only one in this whole corridor. It’s standing open just a crack.

She’s on the seventh floor, where nobody would normally come without a reason. But she thinks that by now every student at Hogwarts must know the legend of the Room of Requirement, that only reveals itself to those in need. 

She looks quickly up and down the corridor before approaching the door, pushing it open just enough to peer inside.

Her first impression is _ green. _

It’s an indoor garden, set up like a forest clearing: most of the plants surrounding the room are taller than she is, ferns, wide flat leaves and snaking vines, smelling of pine needles after rain, though when she touches the mossy ground under her feet it’s dry and a little springy. The only light comes from a few lanterns balanced on tree stumps; the ceiling is a night sky, inky blue and dripping with stars.

It’s _ perfect. _

She steps hurriedly inside and closes the door behind her. 

There’s a picnic hamper waiting beside one of the tree trunks, and a thick rolled-up mat beside it, deep green and purple tartan.

She steps over and lifts the lid of the hamper. It contains plates and bowls, cutlery and glasses, and napkins, all enough for two; Claire knows as well as anyone that magically-created food can provide sustenance but little pleasure, so she’ll need to take care of that part herself. She thinks about the bottles of mulled Butterbeer she smuggled back from Hogsmeade on Saturday and deliberately imagines sitting here with Ally and drinking it hot, so that when she comes back the room will have a solution for her.

She already kind of knows what she needs: a vegan version of Saturday lunch during the holidays, when Mummy comes back from the weekly shop loaded with fresh bread, salad and bits and pieces from the deli counter, and they all help themselves. Claire’s favourite has always been the sausage rolls. She really hopes Beetle can manage a vegan version.

_ We’ll do it on Friday, _she decides. They can stay up as late as they like and sleep in on Saturday morning, and once she’s fixed a date, she won’t dither or be able to back out.

Before bed that night she writes a note on her nicest parchment, and instructs Percy to deliver it during breakfast:

> _ Invitation _
> 
> _ To a literary-inspired fine dining experience _
> 
> _ Meet me at midnight on Friday, beside the barrels? _
> 
> _ C _

She has to admit it’s not particularly stellar, even after a few revisions; Claire’s smart enough but she isn’t particularly talented at creative writing, and she doesn’t think she can make her message cryptic enough to obscure its meaning entirely to a third party while also making it clear to Ally. But it’s the thought that counts. Probably.

She doesn’t sleep very well that night, too keyed-up thinking about what’s coming, wondering if she should figure out what she’s going to say. She feels vaguely like romance should be about grand gestures, but she’s not sure if she can ask Ally to be her girlfriend when she’s not ready to even tell anyone about it.

It’s probably just paranoia that has her feeling like Ally might slip through her fingers if she hesitates; after all, neither of them are going anywhere any time soon.

She manages to wake up both groggy and anxious, which is a weird and unpleasant combination that has her slurping down coffee and not much else, only replying to her friends in distracted grunts as her eyes remain glued to the ceiling.

When the owls finally come swooping down from the skylights with the morning’s post, it takes her a few moments to spot Percy, bringing up the rear. He’s better trained than a lot of the other owls and doesn’t circle overhead, just makes straight for the Hufflepuff table.

Ally’s facing away from her, but Claire fancies she sees her spine straighten as Percy slows above her head, dropping Claire’s note delicately onto her plate.

Claire has the sudden, horrible realisation that Ally may never actually get owl post, and that she may have just drawn rather more attention to this than she intended.

But a minute later she hears the familiar pinging noise in the back of her mind, and when she presses the button on her Wizarding Watch, a single word appears in front of her vision: _ Yes. _

She jumps when a hand lands on her arm. 

“Earth to Claire.” It’s Shani, and her expression tells Claire that she’s already had to repeat herself, and isn’t happy about it. “What the hell is with you today? You’ve spent the entire meal zoning out and now you’re sitting here grinning to yourself. It’s weird.”

“Sorry,” Claire says automatically, heart sinking when she realises that her friends are still looking at her, clearly expecting an answer.

She blurts out the first thing she can think of that isn’t directly to do with Ally: “I might be able to do an extra Potions project. Professor Patel wants to research potions that aren’t reliant on creature-based ingredients.”

Shani frowns. “Do you get extra credit for this or something?”

“No, it’s just interesting.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “I don’t get why you like her so much. She’s always a bitch to me.”

Without thinking, Claire replies, “She values hard work.”

Then she realises the implications of what she just said – and the way they’re all looking at her.

Olivia glares at her. “Well, excuse me for not understanding a fucking word she says.” Claire can hear the pain beneath the anger and opens her mouth to apologise, but Olivia is already getting up. “I’ll see you later.”

Claire watches her leave, heart sinking.

“What is _ wrong _with you?” Izzy demands, in a loud hiss that successfully draws the attention of at least four other people. “You’re being a real bitch at the moment, Claire.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it, I promise, I just wasn’t thinking. I’m under a lot of pressure –” Claire starts to make her usual excuses, but Shani cuts her off.

“Really, cause you’ve been saying that for a year now. And I’m not sure I believe it. You know, if you don’t want to be here, we’re not making you.” She looks significantly towards the Hufflepuff table, and Claire feels her face start to burn. 

She should have expected this. Her friends aren’t stupid, and she knows she’ll have to talk to them sooner or later, if she doesn’t want to lose them entirely. Though that doesn’t mean she wasn’t trying to put it off as long as possible. 

“Can we talk about this later,” she finally says, in a tone that isn’t really a question.

“Sure. _ Later,_” Shani says breezily, as around them, students start to get up from their tables and stream out of the Great Hall.

Claire follows suit, head spinning.

It’s Wednesday morning. Her date with Ally is on Friday night. 

She at least wants to put it off until the weekend, then, if she can. Then she may actually have something to tell them. Hopefully. Things have been the way they are for over a year; what’s a few more days?

She spends the rest of the day in a state of high alert, half-expecting to be cornered and forced to confess; but once she’s apologised to Olivia, which is exactly as painful as she expected, her friends leave her alone to bury her head in a book and pretend she’s studying, as they have for the past year. 

Ever since she stopped really talking to them.

* * *

Friday doesn’t come a moment too soon.

Claire sneaks out of her dorm at half-past eleven, thankful that her friends are already asleep. She was too busy worrying about being caught to come up with a decent cover story, and even if ‘going to the bathroom’ with her cloak on didn’t rouse suspicions, not coming back again certainly would.

She's wearing slippers to muffle the noise of her footsteps against the flagstones, but as she steps out of Gryffindor Tower into the main school proper, she's still acutely aware that she's far from soundless, and envies Ally her ability with stealth magic, that Claire arrogantly or naïvely hadn’t thought she'd need to learn.

She’s lucky, though: she only once sees the dim glow of Filch’s lantern around a corner, and simply waits pressed up against the wall, heart pounding, until the sound of his footsteps recedes.

A few nerve-wracking minutes later she reaches the portrait that leads to the kitchens, tickles the pear, and when the portrait swings open, steps inside.

“Oh!” Beetle is standing just inside the door, managing to be startled even though she was there waiting for Claire, who hurriedly shushes her. “Oh!” She repeats, this time in a whisper. “Hello Claire! Beetle has what you requested!”

“Thank you Beetle,” Claire says, taking the picnic basket from her hands. It’s heavy, and she wonders how a house elf less than three feet tall is able to lift it so effortlessly. “Thank you so much, it’s really kind of you. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do in return?”

“Of course! Beetle will tell you if she needs more help!”

Claire suppresses a wince. Risking life and limb beneath the bowels of the school is _ not _an experience she wants to repeat again in a hurry.

As she steps back into the corridor, she glances at her Wizarding Watch and realises in dismay that she’s still fifteen minutes early. 

If there’s one thing she’s learned from her friends, it’s that being early for things is _ super _uncool – but she also doesn’t trust her memory of the few times she’s watched Ally open the door to the Hufflepuff Common Room enough to try and replicate it, and if anyone comes along while she’s standing here she’ll almost certainly be caught. So she decides that being uncool is the better option, and pings Ally.

_ Are you ready? I didn’t want to be late so I’m super early and now I’m just standing here _

She gets a reply within moments:

_ Haha okay, I’ll be out in two minutes _

Claire still holds her breath when the barrel door swings open – but it’s Ally, of course, bundled up in her cloak and her eyes bright with mischief. Her expression lights up as she sees the picnic basket, and for a moment Claire hesitates, unsure how to greet her – a kiss would be too much, would a hug be more awkward than nothing at all – but she’s already whispering, “Oh my God, you dork. I bet no-one in your family’s ever late for anything, are they.”

“It’s impolite,” Claire replies, tone deliberately stuffy, and her composure cracks when Ally snorts. 

“At least you’re self-aware.” She steps close and casts a spell on them both that Claire recognises as Pass Without a Trace, linking her arm through Claire’s free one. “Come on, then. I’m following you.”

They don’t speak as they make their way up to the seventh floor, well aware that the portraits are as likely to rat them out to Filch as the ghosts or Mrs Norris are. With the spell’s assistance they move quickly and quietly from shadow to shadow along the corridors, the moon giving enough light through the windows to see by. Claire catches Ally’s quizzical expression as they turn down the corridor where she found the Room of Requirement, no doubt wondering where she’s being led.

“Almost there,” Claire whispers, imagining a forest at night as she looks for the door.

In the near-darkness, she has to take a few more steps before she sees it: as unassuming as before, on an otherwise bare wall, opposite a weird tapestry of dancing trolls. As she looks, a thin strip of silver light appears between the door and the floor.

“We’re here,” she says, and turns the doorknob.

The room is exactly as it was the first time she found it: the plants, the moss underfoot, the lanterns, the starry sky. The only differences she can see are the now-open picnic hamper, the large thermal flask set on one of the tree stumps that Claire is sure will contain the mulled Butterbeer she brought in a few days before, and the tartan rug already laid upon the ground, waiting for them. 

Beside her Ally gasps, and Claire quickly leads her inside, closing the door behind them.

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, still clutching Claire’s arm. “You found the Room of Requirement.”

Claire shrugs. “Well, I needed it,” she replies, but Ally is already moving, taking off her shoes and socks, which makes Claire frown in confusion until she sees her dig her bare toes into the moss, exclaiming, “It’s so soft, this is amazing!”

The room is pleasantly warm inside, more like a summer night than a late autumn one, and Claire takes off her cloak, hanging it on a convenient broken-off branch beside her that looks rather like a peg.

She picks Ally’s cloak up off the ground and hangs it beside hers, watching as Ally walks around the edge of the room examining all the plants in turn, touching their leaves and murmuring under her breath, Claire isn’t sure whether she’s talking to herself or to the plants.

She’s only seen Ally like this a handful of times. Like her usual layer of irony has been stripped back entirely, leaving only joy, and every time it feels precious.

Claire takes off her slippers and walks over, the moss cool and springy underfoot. “Tell me about the plants?” 

Ally identifies Wiggentrees, goosegrass and asphodel, and there are a few more she doesn’t know; and Claire tries to mentally tell the Room that it would be really nice if she could discover a piece of parchment with their names and pictures on at some point. 

Ally turns back to face her, expression soft in the starlight, her dark eyes sparkling. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“The school helped,” Claire points out, awkward in the face of such earnest gratitude. “So did Beetle.” 

“Oh my God, I almost forgot. _ Food. _ I hope you skimped on dinner as well, ‘cause I am _ so ready _for this.”

Ally laughs when Claire’s stomach growls, right on cue.

Luckily for her, Beetle knows a lot more about what Ally likes to eat than Claire does, and has taken her somewhat vague instructions and brought them to life. They sit down on the picnic mat and unpack still-steaming fresh bread with olive oil and salt instead of butter, and a fresh green salad; bright pink hummus and vegetable sticks, of course, and roasted vegetables mixed with some sort of grain that Claire doesn’t recognise. There’s garlic olives and sun-dried tomatoes, falafels with spicy sauce, and even the longed-for vegan sausage rolls. At the bottom of the basket is a chilled bottle of cloudy lemonade, condensation beading on the glass. 

“Holy shit,” Ally says, once they’ve arranged all the food around themselves, and Claire is wondering how they could possibly get through it all. “I don’t know where to start. No, that’s a lie. Sausage rolls.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Claire replies, and helps herself.

She quickly decides the sausage rolls are _ amazing: _they’re still hot, the pastry is perfectly flaky, and she had no idea that anything vegan could take this much like meat.

Ally actually _ moans, _ her eyes falling closed for a moment in pleasure. “Wow,” she says between bites. “How many of these did we get?”

“Six.”

“Oh my God. I wonder if I could persuade Beetle to make me these for dinner. Maybe every day.”

As they tuck into the variety of dishes on offer, Claire quickly decides that she doesn’t actually miss having meat when everything tastes so good anyway. This is the first time she’s ever properly sat down and had a meal with Ally, and she hadn’t realised just how special it would be to share it with her. She hopes they can do this again at least once before Christmas.

Not that she really wants to think about Christmas now. Two whole weeks without seeing Ally is going to _ suck. _

“I told Beetle we owe her for this,” she says. “I just hope that the next time she needs a favour it doesn’t involve giant spiders.” 

Ally snorts. “Are they not your thing then?”

“Fighting for my life in underground caverns isn’t my thing.” Claire takes a mouthful of the roasted vegetable salad. The grains are pleasantly chewy. “We could have _ died._”

“Don’t you want to be an Auror? Because from what I gather, ‘could have died’ is gonna be a recurring theme.”

Something about the way Ally’s looking at her makes Claire say, a little defensively, “What?”

Ally rolls her eyes. “I’m not one of your Gryffindor friends, remember? Come on. Admit you enjoyed it. Even just a little bit.”

In her mind, Claire hears an echo of her own voice saying, _ be real with me. _

She spent so many years of her life thinking the things she knows she’s supposed to think, that she isn’t always sure what she _ actually _ thinks.

“Well, while it was happening, I was just trying to kill them before they killed us,” she says slowly, remembering the cavern with its giant chess board, watching Bunder fall, hoping desperately that Brian would get to him in time. “But afterwards? I couldn’t believe we’d really done it.”

She’s never told anyone how it felt before, the few moments after the battle where they just stood and looked at each other, not saying anything, bloody and exhausted but _ alive: _how with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Ally-the-badger’s paws on her shoulders and the rest of them by her side, she longed in that moment more than anything to call them her friends.

That’s the only justification she can come up with for her clumsy and frankly mortifying attempts to bond with them. Which only served to highlight just how _ far _ from being friends they actually were. 

But if she imagines a better version of the story, where she can turn to the people beside her afterwards, battered and bruised and triumphant, and call them her _ friends? _

Ally’s – special, of course, but she supposes the others aren’t so bad either. She’s certainly never minded Andy, Brian’s an insufferable know-it-all but he is at least clever, and Bunder held his own as well, and would probably even be tolerable if he toned down the flirting. 

“I don’t think I _ knew _ I was enjoying it then… but looking back? Maybe just a little bit,” she admits.

“That’s my Claire. Good to see your hero complex is alive and well.” Ally winks, and Claire smiles back and tries her best not to look flustered. “What did a girl like you even do to get detention anyway? Did someone catch you cheating?”

“No!” Claire protests hotly, wishing Ally would let her forget just how low she sank last summer. “It was for arguing. With Maud Kennedy in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She thought you couldn’t use _ Salvio hexia _on jinxes because ‘they’re not hexes’.” Claire does her most sarcastic air quotes, getting annoyed all over again as she remembers it. “Imagine getting to fifth year and still thinking that. I, er, may have told her she was breathtakingly incompetent and should go back to first year and start again as she had clearly learned nothing since then.”

“Oh my God. Of course you did.” Ally’s barely holding back laughter. “Only you would get detention for being a know-it-all. Well, you and Brian.”

“What was your offence, then? Overuse of sarcasm?”

“Ha ha. No. I grew mould on Professor Alhambra’s bookshelves. And I mean a _ lot _of mould. Over a period of several weeks. Because he’s a patronising fucking dinosaur and his Non-Magical Studies curriculum makes me want to hit things, in case you wondered. Then when he caught me, I refused to remove it. Magically or otherwise.” Claire isn’t sure if Ally’s expression is one of anger or pride. “Now I have to give up my wand every time I go into that classroom, but every now and then I still sneak in at night and touch it up. It’s practically its own ecosystem at this point. He knows I’m doing it, but he can’t catch me.” She straightens her spine, shakes her hair out of her face, and says solemnly, “I have sworn to be a thorn in that man’s side until the day I graduate.”

She looks so _ beautiful _ like this, so proud and righteous and alive – and Claire drops her mostly-empty plate onto the blanket and kisses her.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” she asks, before she loses her nerve. “For our next date we can touch up the mould.”

Ally’s answer is a peal of laughter, and another kiss.

“With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

* * *

It’s almost four in the morning when Claire finally gets back to her dorm, stifling a massive yawn behind her hand and trying not to trip over her own feet as she climbs the stairs. At least half of her wanted to stay in the Room all night, laying down on the picnic blanket with her hand on Ally’s waist, kissing and talking and kissing again; but after she almost fell asleep for the second time, Ally started poking her in the ribs until she agreed to go to bed.

She gets drowsily undressed and is asleep within minutes; and when Izzy’s voice wakes her up at nine in the morning she casts _ Muffliato _ on her curtains and falls back asleep till noon.

She has two missed pings from Olivia: _ Are you ever getting out of bed? _ and _ We’re going to Hogsmeade without you, ping if you want to meet us later. _

Claire replies, _ Study day for me. Have fun and I’ll see you later, _though it’s probably more than obvious to her friends that there’s more sleeping and less studying going on.

As is usual for Saturday lunchtimes, the Great Hall is mostly empty, and with the students out of uniform and drifting in and out throughout the entire ninety minute period that lunch is served, the atmosphere feels much more relaxed than it does during the week.

Claire doesn’t see Ally – which isn’t surprising, she’ll be phoning her mum – or anyone she’d really consider a friend. But she does see Justin and Naomi in their usual places at the Hufflepuff table.

When Justin holds up a hand in greeting, Claire hesitates: she doesn’t think she’s ever not sat at the Gryffindor table for a meal in more than five years, and if none of her friends are around, she just eats alone or with whoever else is there. 

But she’s curious to see what would happen if she did – and wasn’t she trying to be real?

So she walks over to him, and sits down in Ally’s seat.

Cautiously, she says, “Hey.”

“Afternoon. Help yourself to the vegan buffet.” _ It’s Ally’s food, _she realises, or maybe all their food, there’s certainly enough for a couple of people. 

She picks up her cutlery and starts helping herself to what she thinks is a slice of grilled tofu; and when Justin adds, “I hear congratulations are in order,” nearly drops it on the table.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, when she doesn’t reply. “I’m not going to speak out of turn.” It’s the most sympathetic she’s ever seen him, and she realises with a weird jolt that some of their fears and experiences might not be so far apart. “But Ally told us. Of course.”

“Of course.”

He caught her off guard, but actually, Claire doesn’t think she minds. Justin may be a bit prickly, but she trusts him with this. “I don’t mind.”

“Though as Ally’s friends, we are obligated to inform you that if you behave like an idiot, we will find you and tell you about it in no uncertain terms.”

“Message received and understood,” Claire replies with a smile, and helps herself to more food.

“Are you going to tell your friends?”

She sighs. “Yeah. Soon.” There’s very little she wants less than to have that conversation, but she knows that if she wants to keep on calling them her friends then she can’t keep hiding this from them. 

“Okay. If they’re idiots about it, we’ll adopt you.”

His tone is throwaway, but Claire knows he knows the importance of what he’s offering, and it’s so unexpectedly kind that tears start to form in the corners of her eyes. 

“Agreed,” Naomi adds – _ Merlin’s balls, _ Naomi has barely even _ spoken _to her and she’s offering to be Claire’s friend, just like that?

It’s a little overwhelming.

“Thank you,” Claire manages, not sure what else she could say.

After lunch she goes to the library and tries to work, but ends up just staring at her Transfiguration notes without really seeing them, her mind too full to take anything in. She has a three-thousand-word essay comparison of the legal limits on Conjuration and Vanishment spells due on Friday and she’s barely started, but for once she can’t find it in herself to care.

She’s going to tell her friends today. 

She has to. She can’t keep up this charade any longer.

She knows who they are and what they’re like, and she knows that she might have changed too much for their friendship to work. But if she’s going to continue to call them her friends then she needs to actually let them know that person, and to give them to the chance.

She takes a deep breath, and pings Olivia:

_ Studying isn’t going so well. Let me know when you’re back? _

She gets a reply a few minutes later: _ About half an hour? _

_ Okay. I’ll be in the dorm, _Claire pings back, and gathers up her things.

She goes back up to Gryffindor Tower, makes her bed, and tidies up all her things around it. Then she makes Izzy’s bed, and tidies up everything she thinks she can touch without anyone getting annoyed about it. She’s just opened her trunk and is staring at the expanded shelving inside, trying to decide whether to rearrange her clothing by colour or purpose, when the door opening behind her makes her jump.

“Hey,” Izzy calls out as Claire banishes the shelves and closes the lid of her trunk with a flick of her wand, sitting cross-legged on her bed and trying to look normal, wishing she’d thought to leave a book open so it looked like she was actually doing something other than just waiting for them.

Though as she watches the others file into the room and take off their cloaks, the icy atmosphere they bring with them makes what she was doing seem a lot less important.

“So.” Shani says, faux-casual as she sits down on the edge of Izzy’s bed, and Claire can feel the inevitability of the moment rushing towards her like a fall from a broom. “Where’d you go last night?”

She says, “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

She still doesn’t know how to say this, if she should try and tell the story from beginning to end; but she supposes that when it begins with the big revelation rather than ending there, it doesn’t really matter.

Trying to soften the truth will ultimately serve no purpose other than making her seem apologetic, and though the other version of this story would have been an easier one, she has nothing to be sorry for.

So she simply says, “I’m a lesbian.”

There are a few awful seconds of silence.

As she looks at each of them in turn, Izzy looks – baffled; Olivia looks _ upset, _which makes Claire’s chest clench horribly; Shani’s expression she can’t read at all.

Then Izzy says, “Holy _ shit._” 

Shani says, “Well, this explains a lot.”

“It does?” Claire asks, honestly taken aback.

Shani gives her that look that Claire knows means she’s being particularly dense. “Allison Reinhold? The midnight excursions? ‘Sorry, I have to study’? We’re not thick, Claire.”

“I know. I don’t think that.” 

She can feel this conversation starting to get away from her; and she wanted to stay in control, but she simply doesn’t know how.

“So you don’t like guys?” Izzy asks. “At all?”

“No. I tried –” _ fuck, _it sounds so stupid when she says it out loud, but it’s the truth. And she decided she was going to tell them the truth.

“But you told me you liked Andy.”

Claire winces. “I know.” And _ Merlin, _ wasn’t that an awkward conversation, Izzy confessing she’d kissed the boy she thought Claire liked, and Claire having to reassure her that it was okay, she really didn’t mind, that she’d thought she liked him but maybe she’d just liked the _ idea _ of him. Never _ lying, _unless you counted by omission. “I wasn’t lying, not exactly. I decided I liked him because he was good-looking and I must like someone. I didn’t actually know what it felt like until –”

“Until what?” Shani prompts.

“Do you remember Rashida? Head Girl last year?” Claire feels herself going red, but fortunately she can see from their faces that she doesn’t need to say anything more.

“You’ve known for a _ year _ and you didn’t tell us?”

Claire looks over, for the first time in half a minute: Olivia is sitting on her own bed, legs crossed. She’s fiddling with the end of her fishtail braid, and her eyes are wide and hurt.

“I told myself it didn’t matter.” Even though it’s the truth, if she were them, Claire doesn’t think she’d believe her. “I decided I was going to finish school first and then figure things out afterwards.”

“You repressed it,” Shani says, and it hurts to have it pointed out so bluntly but it’s not like she’s wrong.

“Yeah. My – crush didn’t know who I was anyway. And I know my parents won’t be happy.” If there’s one part of this she knows her friends will understand, it’s parental expectations. “Which is why I’m asking you not to tell anyone. Not even Andy.” She looks at Izzy. “If it gets back to my parents, they might try and stop me seeing Ally.”

When they all agree, Claire has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying with relief.

“So is she your girlfriend then?” Shani asks. 

“Yeah. I asked her last night and she said yes.” Claire smiles. “That’s where I was. We went on a date.”

“Have you had sex?” Izzy asks.

“No!” Claire abruptly flushes even hotter. “Merlin’s balls, Izzy. We only just started dating.”

Izzy shrugs. “I sucked Andy’s dick before we started dating.”

Claire holds back the words, _ Yeah, well, that’s you, _ and says a little more diplomatically, “Well, I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet.”

“Livi?” Shani prompts – and Claire realises Olivia is still looking at her with the same wounded expression, that makes her feel like complete shit inside. “If you’ve got something you want to say to Claire, I think now is the time.”

“I just –” Olivia sets her jaw. “You’ve changed. You don’t talk to us any more. It’s like you’re never really here. And then you start hanging out with Muggleborns and sneaking out after dark, and now you’ve got a girlfriend? I feel like I don’t know you any more.”

As she gets up and walks out of the room, Claire can’t stop the tears from falling.

“You go,” she hears Shani say, and the sound of the door closing.

Then the mattress shifts as Shani sits down beside her, and presses a tissue into her hand.

“Thanks,” Claire mutters, and blows her nose loudly.

“She’ll get over it.” Shani puts her arm around Claire’s shoulders, and Claire leans against her, trying to push down the fresh wave of emotion that wells up inside her as she realises Shani is still here, that she hasn’t left her. “She’s just sensitive. You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s right though. I can’t remember the last time you talked to us like you gave a shit.”

“I know. I really am sorry,” Claire sniffles. “I should have told you earlier. But I told myself it didn’t matter because I was scared, and then I didn’t know how to talk about anything. But I really, really don’t want to lose you guys.”

“So prove it,” Shani says, not unkindly. “Put your Galleons where your gob is. Cause we want to have you back.”

Claire is well acquainted with her friends’ faults, but over the last year, she thinks she’s also forgotten their strengths. Shani is insightful to a fault, and will always tell you the hard truths when you need to hear them; Izzy’s permanently good-natured and can always be relied upon to cheer someone up; and Olivia never stops trusting her friends, even though it gives them the power to wound her.

Claire knows she wants that trust back, and she’s prepared to do what she needs to in order to earn it.

She pings Ally just before dinner:

_ I told my friends. It went OK, though Olivia’s upset I didn’t tell her before. But Shani thinks she’ll get over it. _

_ Good, cause I didn’t want to have to kick their arses, _ Ally replies, and as Claire smiles at the message, _ Mum says hi, and that she’s looking forward to meeting my new girlfriend. _

Claire feels proud and embarrassed and fearful all at once, and it takes her a few moments to compose a coherent reply.

_ I want to meet her too. Would you like to take a walk round the lake after dinner? _

When Claire tells her friends she’s going to meet Ally, without lying or holding back, she’s surprised by just how freeing it feels. 

It’s barely above freezing outside, and Claire holds Ally’s icy hand in one of her pockets as they head down to the lake, making a mental note to get her some decent gloves.

She can’t be there for Christmas, of course, but she could probably post them. 

“I hope we’ll be able to get our Apparition licenses next term,” she says, running her thumb over Ally’s knuckles. “Then I can meet your mum.”

“Are you sure you can’t come over the holidays? Even for an afternoon?”

“I can’t fly to London from Tutshill. Trust me, I checked. And I don’t think my parents would take me. And you’re not on the Floo network, right?”

“Nope. Not a lot of working fireplaces in Camden flats.” Ally looks over at her. “Can’t you ask your parents though? The worst they can do is say no.”

“You don’t understand.” The idea sends a chill down Claire’s spine. “My parents know my friends. And their families. We’re – a closed society, essentially. And before I met you I was fine with that.” It’s difficult to find the words to explain something that’s always been instinctual. “I know the rules. And if I ask for something that breaks them, that means questions. And I don’t want questions. Not while I’m still dependent on them.”

“That’s complete bullshit,” Ally argues. “It makes me so angry –” and maybe Claire should be flattered that Ally’s angry on her behalf, but actually it kind of makes her angry right back.

“I don’t need you to be angry, I _ need _ you to accept it!” she snaps, before making herself stop, and take a breath. “At least for now. You told me I needed to understand your life. Well, it goes both ways. This is my life and I need you to trust that I know the best way to handle it. Okay?”

“Okay. Yeah. I’m sorry,” Ally replies, voice small. “I was being a dick, wasn’t I.”

“You weren’t being a dick. You just didn’t get where I was coming from.” Claire squeezes her hand reassuringly. “The important part is that you do now.”

They walk in silence for a little while, the only sounds the lapping of water at the banks of the lake, an owl hooting in a nearby tree.

“You probably don’t get this,” Ally says eventually, “but sometimes I’m amazed all over again that this is actually my life. That there’s really magic in the world, and it’s mine, and I get to be here.” 

Claire looks at the silhouette of the treetops beyond and the starry sky above, and thinks of last night. Of holding Ally in her arms, and wishing it could last forever.

“Hmm. Yes and no. I’ve always known I had magic, but – there are still things about this that amaze me.” She hesitates, but says it anyway, “Like being here. With you.”

Ally snorts.

“Oh my God. I should have known you’d be a hopeless romantic,” she laughs, turning towards Claire and putting her hands on her waist. “Luckily for you, I think you’re getting away with it.” She winks. “Now kiss me already.”

And Claire does.


End file.
